


Arkadia

by MonokromatikBlue



Series: Where The Bleeding Hearts Grow [1]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Rewind Time Powers (Life is Strange), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Camaraderie, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Mystery, No Romance, No Sex, No Smut, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 86,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonokromatikBlue/pseuds/MonokromatikBlue
Summary: "Once, once for all, if you would save your heart from breaking, learn this lesson - once for all you must cease, in this world, to believe in the eternity of any creed or form at all. Whatever grows in time is a child of time, is born and lives, and dies at its appointed day like ourselves." - James Anthony Froude
Relationships: David Madsen/Joyce Price, Rachel Amber/Chloe Price
Series: Where The Bleeding Hearts Grow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909189
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	1. Et In Arkadia Ego

Bright, ever-blinding light.

If she squinted hard enough, the blurred lines displaced between the light would form the squares of the ceiling, lined in geometric fashion that crisscrossed her vision and left her in idle wonder. Her entire body was burning, hot and stifled by the long-sleeved flannel she wore, it scratched against sensitive skin and boiled her in its cotton embrace. Her hands, bound by the tight grip of duct tape, were frigid, the room's temperature bit into her fingers and the imbalance made her feel uncomfortable.

That is, disregarding the fact that she shouldn't even be here.

The thought came to mind many times already, but she didn't have the conscience to act on its warning. She simply stared; dilated eyes gazed up to the ceiling, and were finally pulled from their reverie by the voice of the other occupant.

"Oh, Rachel."

She can hear the sound of encroaching footsteps upon the tiled floor. Even when laying upon the white canvas backdrop, she felt the tiniest of tremors as someone calmly walked towards her. She turned her head, not enough to look at them but enough to make them continue their spiel, "Of all my muses, you've been the best I've ever had."

Rachel was struck by the sincerity of the voice. She should be wary of it, yet she couldn't help but feel touched by such honesty within words. The trip had really gotten to her head this time, she supposed. A hand, gloved and calloused, yet comforting as it took hold of her chin and guided her face. She found herself being analyzed by a spectacled dull-brown gaze, it accompanied a wolfish grin and it was now that she realized how unusual this whole situation was.

Rachel concluded that she was definitely dreaming, and that she must've gotten a little too crazy with the drinks that Nathan kept giving her and passed out. It seemed to be one of those lucid dreams again, where everything was so vivid and powerful and so real, she'd have a hard time separating them from reality. She definitely knew that the man, now towering over her with a digital camera in hand, had never been the kind to go about this much foreplay before getting intimate. She'd been around him long enough to know that he was an impatient man, even if he carried the façade of being stoic wherever he went.

"I had dreamed many times of how I'd capture you in moments like this, you play the role so perfectly," he coos down to her, "a shining star in the void of society, so beautiful and divine."

He crouched, bringing himself close enough for Rachel to smell the cologne he wore. It became the air then, drowning her with its slick poignance, she suddenly found it difficult to breath. Had she known any better, this would signal a sense of danger within her mind, but she didn't care much anymore. His words floated into her head and rung with the melody of a gentle lullaby, so perfectly placed it made her crack a small smile. The only thing this weird dream is missing is some curveball, something random—

"Whatever excuse for me not being here, just can it, I didn't mean to forget my flash drive."

 _Nathan_.

The photographer turned his gaze somewhere beyond where she could see, his features morphed into a scowl before reverting back in a heartbeat. Rachel heard, no, _felt_ the rush of another pair of footsteps opposite of where she lay. They crossed the room, stopping over where she recalled there to be a desk, a computer sat atop it and with it the source of Nathan's frustration.

The footsteps started their path back, but froze short, she could hear the subtle shift in stance and unknowingly held her breath.

"What the fuck—?" a baffled voice blurted.

"Is something the matter, Nathan?" replied its cooled counterpart, the man decided to saunter over to where Nathan was, Rachel was stuck to losing herself to the lights from above.

"What the hell is she doing here?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Nate. You know exactly why she's here."

A pause. Rachel wondered how long the dream would last. Whenever it got into a boring sequence it would usually shift to something more entertaining. Perhaps, this dream she's in is only partially controlled by her mind. Maybe it's a whole realm of time and space, unbeknownst to the sober mind, and exists here, in the lucid tranquility she's floated into. She doesn't really know; she doesn't really care.

"I thought we agreed on _this_ —" there's an emphasis on the last word, whether it means her or something else, Rachel doesn't know. What she does know, is that she really wants to wake up and text Chloe, maybe she'd get a kick out of her recent trip to this wack-ass Wonderland she's ended up in. Well, maybe if Chloe'd stop being sick. What's her luck that her girlfriend comes down with a cold just before the party?

"On what, Nathan?"

"You could go after any of the others, but not her. I thought we were fucking clear on that."

Rachel thinks of how Chloe was probably blowing up her phone right now, even when asleep, her lover always found a way to bring that sort of excitement to her, like a kindred spirit meant to give her a light in the dark, ever faithful, everlasting. Spending time together, talking of the rain, the beautiful trick of the light on the harbor in the late evening, watching the sky shift hues whenever they wake up in the early hours of summer's morn.

"Let's be real, Nathan. Do you think those shallow whores are worth even half as much as Amber over there?"

"That's the fucking point, I don't care what you do with the rest of them, just keep her the fuck out of this."

"Au contraire, she's no clue of what's going on. So long as the dose you gave her was enough, we'll be fine, but you just don't seem to get that."

"The fuck you mean, that I gave her? How the fuck did you—"

Eyes half-lidded, she lost herself to the haze of fluorescent white, her head filled the void of light with the colors, swirling, gleaming like stars, how she longs to be one with the stars, so bright and free—

_Aren't those stars up in the sky only what we're able to see, and not what they truly are? What if they're truly dead and gone?_

She is the star, burning, burning bright.

"Nathan? Is that you?" Rachel rasped, her throat was dry but she's bored out of her mind, laying on the sidelines while her mind rants to itself with others' voices. They say something, but her ears have trouble discerning it, drowned out by the sudden ringing, loud and piercing and she winces. She's burning up and it's not getting any better.

The light above her is swallowed up by the now looming shadow of two figures, their faces blurred and dimmed with shadows, so Rachel closes her eyes and pictures them from memories before. Nathan's bright blue eyes, cold, like that of ice, piercing into her, with his cocky smirk, his indifferent attitude to everything but her; or the way that man's eyes, little brown abysses that have nothing yet everything within, how they look upon her like she was Aphrodite herself, graced from the ripples of the bay and indescribable in perfection. How the man's wolfish grin would ease ever so slightly whenever he noticed her, his presence like that of a rock, solid and assured in every action. She opens her eyes.

Then came the glistening of metal, so small, so insignificant, Rachel barely noticed. It treaded closer with a whimper, or was that Nathan? She wasn't sure now if there even was a sudden cry. One of the figures crouches lower, the blotch of red clothing that draped their being was all she could focus on, it stood out so vibrantly from the blacks and whites, Rachel couldn't take her eyes off it.

"Nathan—?"

When the prick of the needle struck her neck, the world sharpened in the blink of an eye.

Rachel stiffened, making the puncture hurt even more as the plunger was depressed, and molten liquid burned under her skin, hot and shrill with stimuli and god how she wanted to scream. No sound came forth than a choked noise of surprise, before she set her eyes on Nathan, himself pale and stricken with a kind of sorrow that she'd only seen in him once before. Prescott looked at her like she was his own mother in the stories he'd told Rachel of, watching as the one he cared for slip from his grasp again, unable to do a thing to save her. He numbly stood up, and shrunk away from her field of view and was replaced by the man, his eyes glinted from the refraction of the fluorescents off his glasses. His face was somber, yet cold as the room, uncaring.

"I'm sorry, Rachel. It was bound to happen, one way or another. May you live on in spirit, forever."

The last thing she heard before her ears gave out and her vision was swallowed by black was the loud, harrowing sobs from Nathan, ringing off the walls, so anguished and raw and pained.

With one last exhale, she breathed no more.

* * *

Scratching her face against the hallway carpet, she rose from her spot—and was jerked awake by a subconscious panic. That feeling of panic seized her heart and she whimpered, to herself, to anyone, as her back braced against the cold wood of a door, with frantic calamity she looked down the length of the hallway, left and right. The many towering shadows of the doors lining the hallway told her she was in the dorms.

There was no one.

She was surrounded by darkness, by shadows.

_Darkness is the mere absence of light. Be not afraid._

She waited until she could discern the individual beats of her heart before she shakily stood from her spot, and tightly clasped a hand around the door's handle to support herself. Every bit of her skin was cold, so cold to the touch, the handle in her grip felt foreign from its usually cool embrace whenever she returned from her classes in the afternoon, or when she rose with the sun in the early morning.

There existed nothing but the cold, and the dark.

Stiff-legged, she hobbled haphazardly towards where she remembered to be the bathrooms, and wheezed in relief at the sight of light, hidden behind the room's door. Clasping, she pulled the door open, and slipped inside.

The fluorescents were brutal on her sensitive eyes, and with careful steps she trudged to the closest sink from the door, and leaned her hands on its sides, tired and sick to her stomach. For even with her fair skin being ice cold, she could see the angry red marks on her wrists, where something had once been. She can't recall what it was.

Raising her head to the mirror, she was greeted with a ragged, tired-looking stranger. This poor stranger had her hair—blonde, and once silky smooth—laid as a mop on her head, the locks of hair were matted and dry as she ran a hand through it, catching on many knots along the way.

Hollow, dilated hazel eyes stared back at her, with a fearful brow, and through the haze of the bright light, she could see the glimmer of the small, golden cross dangling below that pale face. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes.

Kate should've never gone to that party.

Rolling up the sleeves of her black coat and white button-up blouse underneath, she cranks the faucet on and eases her cold hands into the running water, which grows warmer by the second. She stays that way, finding solace in the flowing warmth, washing away the feeling of grime, cupping her hands and splashing away the cold sweat, the tears from her face.

It's not even close to the comfort she thinks of, being in bed wrapped with her warm olive blanket, or reading the Book of John, or even studying for an upcoming midterm in English. The feeling of emptiness in her chest grows at the longing for such simple fragments of peaceful monotony, so she douses her face again, focuses on the warmth.

The faucet squeakily shuts off, and paper towels from the dispenser are snagged on fingers. When she finishes drying, she looks again. Gone is the stranger, in their place is her reflection. Yet, those dull eyes still stare back at her.

_Stare into the abyss, and it shall respond in kind._

Kate makes for the door, and treks as silently as she can into the dark, her flat-footed shoes brushing on the carpet. Eyes adjust, and she shuffles closer to her dorm room, gripping the handle and turning.

The same sight that greeted her in the afternoon greets her again, but there's no smiling from her, no assurance nor comfort. Even in her own little abode, there is nothing but the cold.

She makes her way to her bed, tucked in the corner to the immediate left of the door, and flicked the lamp perched at the nightstand on, its light a beacon of dim yellow glow. There, sitting under the nightstand, was her purse, and in it, her phone. As she turned it on, she noted with wide eyes the time of night—just past four in the morning—and that creeping panic grew tenfold, seeing the sheer number of texts and missed phone calls from so many people. Whatever small number of contacts she had, she'd no doubt received something from all of them.

One step at a time, now.

The first messages she read were her parents', and were not helpful for any context. What had happened between when she'd gone to the party and when she woke up? What on God's green earth happened to make her end up in front of her door, shivering cold?

All she got from her parents was sympathy or scorn.

Then came the texts from Juliet and Dana, the two who had been with her in the beginning of the night. They'd met up with Kate just as she was considering turning back, and had encouraged her to join them. She remembered the bright patterns of colored lights, the deafening music, the red plastic cup of wine that ended up in her hands. Everything else was a blur. Through the many messages that had been sent to her, Kate realized that she'd been separated from her friends not too long from when they met up, a fact which sat like a rock in her stomach. They knew nothing about what happened to her then.

She noticed that there were no messages from Max, her best and closest friend since she first arrived at Blackwell. Not that she expected any: Kate had talked to her brunette friend earlier that afternoon on whether she should go, and even despite Max's protests, she'd been so curious. She just wanted to know, she just wanted to be normal. She'd been so assured then, that eventually Max believed her confidence, and had wished her the best before going off to finish some spare homework. As far as Max is concerned, she's had the time of her life at that party.

Sadness grips her heart, and tugs, steady and painfully. She wishes she could talk to Max now.

There was one last message, and what gave Kate pause was that it came from an unknown number. It was a simple message—a link, a YouTube link to a video. Perhaps this was the missing piece to the puzzle, and with cautious fervor she clicked the link. Whether it was a prank or not, she had to know, she _needed_ to know. It was a terrible feeling, having a hole of memories in her mind, a period of time that simply does not exist for her, yet existed for everyone else. It loaded a video with a plain, all lowercase title, and dread swelled as she read.

 _internationale party 10/4/13 -_ _kate's gone wild!_

Her thumb hovered over it, just one tap would be all. She could see herself in the thumbnail, and tried her damnedest to pin any recollection of memories, anything at all. Yet that dread inside her festered evermore, as nothing stuck out in her mind. Mere static, then a soft voice, faint and whispery like a doctor's, then blinding bright light. Nothing more.

With a shaky thumb, Kate pressed play.

* * *

It was a finicky thing, but damn if it wasn't one of the few things in her possession that was dependable. Assured that this sixth attempt at what she wanted to text was good enough, she presses send, and the message goes forth. She slides her faithful blue switch phone into the nook of her left jeans pocket, and from the right, she pulls out her lighter, its metal case cold in her hand as she flicks it open and alight. The cigarette's tip glows beautifully, and the feeling of smoke in her lungs warms her insides so completely, she nearly forgets to exhale. Doesn't mean she likes the smell.

Chloe looked out through her windshield to the small bustle of students that she could see coming out from the gymnasium, the building closest to the school parking lot and the only thing to take notice of at this time of day. It was a perfect distraction to her fidgeting, for even with the relieving presence of the nicotine, her leg bounced sporadically, nervously. Her hand clamped down after a few seconds, willing the dread to go away.

He'd be there, that's for sure. She knew he would. In the few instances of seeing him and hearing him talk, Chloe knew he was a prideful bastard, and would do anything to save himself given the chance.

Perhaps he was as nervous as she was. It's not every day that someone as crazy or as bold as her decides to blackmail the heir of the Prescott family for hush money.

Another drag, another blowing cloud of smoke.

She should've known it was too easy, at that bar, not even a couple days ago. She should've known something was up when he thought of her as someone new, someone from out of town. She should've known those cold, devilish eyes were sharper than they were, in the haze of the bar lights and as he obliged her to a drink. She let her guard slip trying to suck up to him, and was fooled at her own game.

It made that mistake all the more bitter, waking up in the bastard's dorm room, with him leering a camera over her. Like a prize, with the picture as his own trophy.

She shudders, then takes another drag. The cigarette was burning away faster than she liked.

Once she had made her escape, she spent the better part of the day out of her house, and away from the worried looks her mother would have given her, and from the god-awful clutches of her step-father. Oh, how he'd lament to her time and time again that he only wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from the many boogeymen that plagued his mind. She sure as hell didn't need him telling her it was her fault that she was outplayed. She didn't need someone telling her something she already knew.

One last drag, and the embers were snuffed out in the ashtray, and she sighed, heavy and tired.

She stayed like that, sitting in her rusted, weathered pickup truck, so tired of it all. Ice blue eyes flickered to the glove box, and with a reluctant hand she opened it, and took hold of the single item within. A photograph of her, and her other half, her best friend, her angel, her only living, breathing constant. There existed a crease, that stretched vertically down the middle of the shot, where Chloe had used it as a reference for those missing posters she'd put up months ago. Seeing the photo made the guilty feeling inside her grow, for she'd lost faith, and gave up with those posters not even weeks after her disappearance.

No one cared. No one asked. No one said a word, when Rachel fell off the face of the earth, and was never seen since.

A hand brushed away the tears threatening to spill, and whatever sadness still existed was swiftly turned to anger, a boiling, bubbling, burning hot anger. She may have no direction left in her life, but she also had nothing left to lose.

He would pay. With money or his reputation, he would pay. She would make sure of it.

A buzz came, and she saw that he'd messaged her back. Finally.

_Nathan: meet me in the girl's bathroom. come alone. no fucking around._

She smirked, then wiped away that smile from her face. She couldn't let that rat fucker get to her again, she had to be the one in control. For herself, for Rachel.

Chloe gave the photo in her hand a gentle kiss goodbye, and placed it back in the glove box. With one last sigh, she opened the cab door, got out, then slammed it shut, walking briskly to Blackwell's main building.

* * *

Et in Arkadia ego - _Latin,_ "Thus I always go into Arkadia"

A/N - The chapter title is a reference to the painting titled, "Et in Arcadia ego" by Nicolas Poussin, 1637-1638. It relates to the ideals of Memento mori, or the symbolic reminder of Death's inevitable arrival, even to what we perceive as an untouchable utopia, free from entropy. Further referenced by a sticker under the same title, that can be found in Max's journal in Life is Strange.


	2. Blue Butterfly

"You are scared of dying - and, tell me, is the kind of life you lead any different than being dead?" - Lucius Annaeus Seneca

* * *

It is with the horrible howling crash of an artillery shell that she is roused from her slumber.

With a jerk, she rises from the ashes and dirt, gasping. The ground beneath her trembles with the thunderous barrage, its rumbling of the earth threatening to shake her back down as she stands up on shuddering shins. Within her trembling sight is the span of the trench, and its charred-black walls glow scarlet with the fiery flames from above its shelter. Crackling, burning pines surrounded the dugout where she stands. Smoke hangs and flows like tendrils into the air, darkening the sky to near pitch black. Then the figures come into sight, shadows set on the terribly bright flames. They dance in the shadow of the smoke, and like animals, they cry the sounds of war, of rage. So haunting are their cries of vengeance, that she catches herself from responding out of fear. In their hands, their rifles are waved as batons, waving the introduction of the damned beings, of a broken world.

A looming howl catches her ears, and she can picture another shell sailing over the heavens. She throws herself forward, diving into a passageway on her right as an explosive _THUM_ rocks the ground. A geyser of dirt falls from the air and rains down over her back, yet the heavy raincoat she wears keeps the flecks of charred earth from searing her skin. Dragging herself up, she takes two steps before she recoils, falling back and scurrying away on all fours with a terrified shriek.

Before her lies the tangle of corpses of people she could not recognize, they lay crudely against the walls of the trench. These terrible, lifeless beings, stricken with mud, their blood speckled and pooled in the holes of the trench, and their eyes were gauged out, hollow, empty. And they stared at her, every last one of them, with an accusation that had died before it could be known. She pulls her trembling eyes away from the mess of limbs and gore and curls in on herself. She can't stop the sobs, the panic seeping into her. All she can hear are the cries of the devils, and the thunder of the guns. She tightens the hug around her mud-soaked jeans. Another yawning howl, long and resounding, climbs into the heavens and warns her to run, but she doesn't care anymore, she just wants to be over with this hell, whatever this was. It couldn't be real; it just couldn't be rea—

It is with the sudden ringing of the school bell that she is roused from her slumber.

Max snapped awake, sitting ramrod straight in her chair as she took in the scene before her. With her seat being at the back of class, she watched as the majority of her classmates hastily rummaged their notebooks into their bags. Like it was a race, these peers sped for the door, spilling out into the hall and most importantly, not looking anywhere in her direction. Max is glad, she's sure that she would suffocate from embarrassment, to know the whole class was watching her while she dozed.

_What the hell was with that dream, anyways?_

She eases herself up and out her seat, snatching her things and stuffing them in her rugged leather messenger bag, and slowly stumbled out the classroom, casting a short glance over at the photography teacher. Mister Jefferson, an idol of her passion for photography, a handsome man with a goatee and sharp spectacles, was stood by his desk, and engaging in a lively conversation with a female student. This girl was a pixie blonde, and with an outfit worth more than anyone's guess, looking promiscuous with the way she handles herself around Max's idol. Max frowns, envious.

_Victoria doesn't waste a second kissing ass. Again._

As she walks out into the hall, Max recites her priorities in her head, with a trip to the bathroom to calm down and breathe being first on the list. Jamming headphones into ears, she lets the music guide her through the hall, past the cacophony of high school students bustling to classrooms or brashly speaking to friends.

Max walks through the hall, reaching an intersection. To her left, stood the red double doors leading outside to the quad and the rest of campus, and to her right were the teachers' offices, never explored and never ventured by anyone except faculty and a select few of the student body. To the left of those offices stood a black wooden door, and its navy-blue sign positioned at eye level spelled out _WOMEN_ in its off-white font.

She rushes to the door, barging in and letting the door's bolt click back into place before taking a breather. Max pulls the headphones out her ears and tries to find comfort in the blue-tiled walls of the room. Moving past a couple sinks, one with a broken soap dispenser and another with its mirror defamed to near uselessness, she takes her spot at the third from the door, splashing crisp cold water onto her face and eyeing her reflection.

Tired, and unsure. Another day like the rest, minus the daydreaming.

She pulls out a polaroid shot, its edges slightly bent from being hastily stuffed into her jeans pocket. It was a picture of her looking up to a beautiful collage of other polaroid shots adorned on a wall.

_Is this really all I got for the upcoming Everyday Heroes Contest?_

With a sigh, Max carefully stuffed the photo back into her messenger bag. If she wanted a chance to win the contest and go fly out to San Francisco with her photography teacher and idol, Mr. Jefferson, then she'd need to find some better material or start praying really quick. A twitch of movement off to her left caught her attention, and while turning she looked on with wonder, as a bright blue butterfly flitted its way inside from a small single-pane window, fluttering to and fro and making its way past a wall behind the stalls. Max followed, her curiosity piqued. The brunette moved with careful steps, reaching for her polaroid camera as the fluttering insect perched itself upon the rim of a janitor's bucket, then steadily lining up the viewfinder and framing center mass, she depressed the shutter.

_Click_

The butterfly flapped its wings, unappreciative of the camera's flash. With practiced ease Max took the developing photo and gave it a very gentle shake, storing it with the rest of her other shots. She smiled, and watched the blue subject take flight and flutter further into the bathroom.

The creak of the bathroom door stopped her from following its lead, and she stood still, listening with rapt attention as footsteps thudded off the tile floor. Hushed whispering, a monologue like that of a madman accompanied the shuffling, and its baritone pitch sent Max a spur of dread, she tensed.

_What the hell is a guy doing in here—?_

Cautiously, she edged closer and peeking from the wall she hid behind, she silently gasped upon recognizing the twitchy male at one of the sinks. Nathan Prescott, the heir of the prestigious Prescott family, and current de-facto prince of Blackwell, was looking on the verge of a breakdown in the girl's restroom. He spoke to himself with rasp, rushed words spilling from his mouth in a clustered mess, before he clenched his jaw. Taking a deep breath, the boy eased his shoulders, and his tranquility only made Max more nervous.

The door opened again, the newcomer startling Max and forcing her to duck into her spot. Calming her thundering heart, the brunette listened to the newcomer's voice, itself raw like that of a smoker's, but also feminine.

"I hope you checked the perimeter, as my step-father would say."

The _clang_ of opening stall doors echoed closer and closer, and Max felt panic shoot up from her legs and settle in her lungs, robbing her of breath. She'd be discovered before she could say a word in her defense! They'd probably beat her to a pulp for intruding on something she shouldn't. The steps were closing in, and Max raised a hand to her mouth, biting her tongue to keep silent.

"No one's here, stop being so fucking paranoid."

A pause, then the slight squeak of shoes moved away, allowing Max a silent sigh of relief.

"Fine, then let's talk bidness."

"I've got nothing for you."

"Wrong, you got hella cash."

Daring another peek, Max looked from Nathan to the figure hovering 'round him, like a vulture circling her prey. The girl was tall, an inch or so taller than Nathan and even more so for Max. What caught the brunette's eye was the vibrant blue hair sticking out from under a dark blue beanie. Her frame was decked in a leather jacket, with a larger white shirt hung underneath and covered the hem of weathered jeans, long and baggy that led down to heavy combat boots. Max couldn't help but feel a twinge of some feeling, one that is like nostalgia grip her, and she questions if she's ever met this girl before.

"That's my father, not me."

"Oh boo-hoo, poor little rich kid. You think I give a damn where your money comes from? Don't give me that shit," the girl edges closer to the sink Nathan hangs over, and Max sees the Prescott heir almost curl in agitation, but the girl doesn't take notice, "I know you've been pumping drugs n' shit into the kids around here, I bet your respectable father would be shocked to find out, if I went to him. Man, I can see the headlines now—" and the boy visibly shivered, a vein grew visible on his slightly reddened face as he barked his retort—

"Leave him out of this, _bitch_."

"I can tell him and everybody else, that Nathan Prescott is a _bitch ass_ —" she shoves him off the sink, his hands duck into his jacket pockets, "who begs like a little girl and gets off to—"

The girl is cut short, and Max watches with wide eyes as Prescott pulls a pistol from his coat, his thumb clicks the hammer back with a slight _click_ , leveling it at the punk. The girl instinctually steps back, trying to keep as much distance from Nathan and his GB-17 handgun as possible.

"You don't know who the fuck I am or who you're fucking around with!" Each syllable out of Prescott's mouth grows more tense than the last, and he pushed towards her, he'd foregone keeping his finger off the trigger, angered and so ready to put a bullet between her eyes.

"Where'd you get that, what are you doing—" the taller girl nearly trips over herself, and in no time she finds herself backed into the wall next to the door, looking back a second then eyeing Nathan with dread, "Come on man, put that thing down!"

"Don't _ever_ , tell me what to do," Prescott pushed himself into her space, poking the barrel of his pistol into her stomach. The bluenette could smell the rancid aftertaste of alcohol as he spat in her face, "I'm so fucking _sick_ of people like you trying to fuck with me!"

Max, now hyperventilating, turned away from the scene before her with shaky breathes, gripping her head with shaking hands and sliding down the cold tile wall.

_It's a dream. It's a dream, stop shaking it's just a dream—_

She must have passed out again, now her mind is playing demented tricks on her, making her bear witness to this terrible scene. God, her dreams were just getting more dark and terrifying and worse yet, they feel so potently _real_. How the hell was she going to explain this to whoever wakes her up?

_What if it's not a dream? What if this is real?_

_What then, Max?_

"You're gonna get in hella more trouble for this than drugs—!"

"Nobody would even miss your punk ass, now would they?"

His wording was suddenly cold, unlike the shouting he'd been doing, so wrenching of the heart and deathly. The blue punk felt her eyes widen, and she couldn't help but stiffen as Prescott took his free left hand, reaching up and roughly grabbing her by the back of the neck. He slowly pulled her close, too close, she was too scared to consider pushing him off and the cold metal pressing into her abdomen told her to stay still. He brought his mouth to her ear, whispering with a malice that bereft her of speech.

"You're not the one in control here. _I am._ I will say this once, then never again. You let word get out about this, I will hunt you down. I don't care what kind of people you got, I don't care how many. You will not live to see the sun rise, if you fuck with me again."

For a long second, silence reigned. No one moved, no one spoke, the spring had been wound to its breaking point. Then, slowly, Nathan lowered his pistol off the girl, backing a step, two, three away from her, flicking the safety catch and stuffing the pistol in his pocket. Max could hear the muted sobs being choked out a second later, and she peeked around the corner to see Nathan standing over the other girl, who was curled on the tiled floor and shivering. With indifference, he pulled out a wad of cash, so small and ironic for a boy of his wealth and tossed it on the ground in front of the sobbing punk.

"Stay the fuck out of my way, Price. It'll keep you alive."

Nathan swings the door open, and abruptly leaves the girl, Price, still heaving out her pent-up terror on the floor, too out of it to notice the other occupant with her. With a cautious gait, Max stepped out from her hiding place, her mind abuzz over the name Nathan had given the blue haired girl, for it was almost like she was—

_Price._

"Chloe?"

The punk jerked, rearing back like a cornered animal, and those wide eyes zeroed themselves on Max. Slowly, ever gently, Caulfield eased herself into a crouch, keeping her eyes locked on the girl's icy blue gaze.

"Chloe, is that you?"

"Max."

It wasn't a question, yet it was something Max couldn't pinpoint. Chloe looked to her then, as if she were a star, eyes wide with wonder. Before the brunette could ask her long-time best friend if she was alright, two shaky arms wrapped themselves around her small frame, squeezing her short of breath. Reciprocating, Max eased Chloe from her hysterics, whispering comforting nothings to her long-forgotten friend.

* * *

"You came back."

The lighthouse stood tall and mighty over the cliff. The eternal guard of Arkadia, silent in its endeavor, impervious to the slight breeze that swept over the bench they sat on, looked down vigilantly to the entirety of their home. In the outer stretch of the docks, jutting from the beach about a half mile out into the bay, the small fishing boats jostled to the rhythm of the waves. Max watched the craft bounce up and down with the swell. Beyond the horizon, the sun glowed a bright shade of gold, bidding the visible world its farewells before it takes its leave.

"After all this time, you finally came back."

The brunette turned to her blue counterpart, who was also looking down at the bustle of the town with unseeing eyes.

"It only took five years, but shit, you're here now, huh."

With a sigh, Max looked to the ground in guilt. It was going to be brought up sooner or later, she ought to get over the hurdle while she had the courage to.

"Chloe, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Caulfield, shut the hell up."

Chloe wasn't done with her yet, and Max felt the guilt increase tenfold as her friend verbally struck her again, "I don't want to hear your excuses. I want to know why it took you this long to even talk to me—fucking five years, _jesus_ , Max—"

With a huff, the bluenette turned to the smaller girl, expecting an answer. Max tried her best to ease her nerves, "Chloe, I...I didn't mean to go silent on you. I was too busy helping my parents, they were so stressed after the crash, and the riots in Seattle. Going there was a bad choice, I know, but we couldn't come back so quickly, we'd lose everything we have. I wanted to call you, but I felt so—" a pause, then, "I felt so horrible, leaving you not even a day after the funeral."

Max spared a glance, wishing she hadn't as Chloe glared at her, unblinking, waiting for her to lay herself bare to the punk's obvious fury. It was exactly the reaction Max feared for all those years, laying up late at night, unable to sleep, her best friend judging her like the horrible person she was. She continued on, "I was so scared of what you would say, I didn't want to deal with the hurt you were gonna give me, for leaving you, and Joyce, and William, and everything—"

Max choked down the sob threatening to spill forth, but she couldn't stop the tears. She wanted nothing more than to stop crying, yet succumbed as a pair of lanky arms wrapped around her. She wept silent, anguished tears into Chloe's shoulder, not even noticing the bluenette now silently cry with her.

"Is that what kept you, Max?"

Her response was a harsher sob than the previous, so Chloe responded back with a tighter hug. No longer was anger flowing in her veins, so quickly dashed at the sight of her dearest friend in pain, _still_ in pain, like her. Max, from what Chloe could make of her ramble, had felt entirely guilty about leaving Arkadia despite it not being her own choice, and what with the Great Riots that happened only months after the Caulfield family left, Chloe imagined that getting in touch with her was the least of Max's worries.

In a way, they never got better, as Chloe had thought otherwise for so long. Neither of them. Thinking this, the punk girl held Caulfield close, hearing the fragile apologies spill like a stream from the brunette.

"Max, it's ok, it's alright."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry—"

"Max, stop. Look at me—hey, look at me."

Glassy, cobalt blue eyes looked up, ashamed and weary.

"It's alright dude, I get it."

Chloe smiled, small and betraying the hollow feeling in her heart, but if it meant that Max would stop feeling so horrible, she'd smile bright and true. Her efforts were rewarded with a smile returned, and so unusual was it with the tears flowing down reddened cheeks, that Chloe let out an airy chuckle at Max's gesture. Infectiously, they began to laugh, so raw from the sobfest but happy, joyful, for the first time in a long while.

Chloe hadn't felt this inherently good since many a month ago, since—

The smile was immediately wiped from the bluenette's face, so sudden was her shift that it didn't go unnoticed.

"Chloe?"

With a sigh and a constant twiddle of her hands, Chloe hesitantly opened up about her gripes, "I haven't been this relieved for a while Max. I, uhm—I had this girl; she was like my angel, watching over me and all that. Many months ago, she just disappears, like _that_ ," a snap of the fingers, "I don't know where she is or if she's even here anymore."

Max became uncomfortable at Chloe's use of _anymore_.

"She was my everything, Max. She filled the hole in my heart when no one else wanted to. Everyone would always give her shit because of how she was, but they didn't know her like I did. She was the best thing to ever happen to me."

Max watched Chloe's eyes go from shining nostalgia to cold realization in a blink.

"Now she's gone."

And they stayed like that, watching the slow motions of the waves, and the streaks of vehicles moving up and down the little streets of the town below.

"I'll help you."

"What?"

"I'll help you, Chloe," and Price looked into that sudden determination in her best friend, and saw no hint of shallow promise, no second-hand doubts, and the punk smiled, so wide and full of hope.

"We'll find this girl, and then it'll be like nothing ever happened. It'd be you, her, and me—all of us, together," Max promised.

Chloe felt her vision grow glassy with tears, before pulling Max into another hug, basking in the positive light Caulfield radiated. For the first time in a long while, she felt what it was like to have hope.

* * *

A/N - There is a manual found in Nathan's dorm room for his handgun in Episode Four, in which the firearm is labeled as a "GB-17" pistol. It is unknown whether "GB" is an acronym for a longer title of the gun, or the initials of the manufacturing company that produces the firearm, yet, it can be reasonably assumed this model of "GB" is the 17th model/type of the gun, denoted by the "-17". According to said manual, the Model 17 is chambered in 9x19mm Parabellum, one of the most common pistol cartridges in the world.


	3. Black and White

"A few vices are sufficient to darken many virtues." - Plutarch

* * *

The first afternoon bell of the day rung, and with steadfast anticipation, Max made her way out of the cafeteria along with the rest of the students, contemplating how her diet had been doing better than in previous years. What with the half-year long labor strikes being settled in the Midwest, now there was a slight increase in transported goods to seaside states like Oregon, and thus, to Blackwell's own supply as well. Though that wasn't her main concern right now, as lunch was over. She had photography class next, and was looking forward to hearing about whatever Jefferson had planned for this Tuesday.

Walking into the classroom, she noticed the majority of her classmates busying themselves with whatever they saw fit. From where Max stood at the threshold, she could witness the whole room. Off to the large windows along the wall opposite to Max, stood a burly girl, taller than Max and with toned arms and hair a very deep shade of black. Max remembered her name was Alyssa Anderson, quiet and brooding, never speaking more than necessary.

At the closest of the five tables in the classroom, there was a brunette with the same frame as Max, but with more tanned skin, scribbling notes at excessive speed. Max knew her as Stella Hill, studious to all who did not know her personally. Yet, from the few instances she's seen of people talking with the girl, Max could reasonably say she's just like the rest of the class, one with a steadfast dream that requires hard work to achieve it. Also a chatterbox, if the girl's interactions with others was anything to go by.

Off to Stella's right was a black boy, who lounged in his chair, relaxed to a fault. Hayden Jones, a player for the school's football team and a member of the school's rich-clique club, the Blackwell Internationale. Max didn't care much for the club; as far as she was concerned, its members were all wealthy kids who did what they wanted, given enough money on-hand. What concerned her most though was the leader of the club, Nathan Prescott. Anything having to do with that unstable prince was trouble, without a doubt. She didn't want to associate Hayden with the likes of Nathan—the guy seemed to be the literal opposite of the Prescott heir—but she didn't want to be too trusting. People don't call the members hounds for no reason.

Beyond them at another table were three girls, one impromptu-posing for another's camera. It was Dana Ward, a cheerleader for the sports team and a good acquaintance for schoolwork. Caulfield liked Dana; for while she gave off the impression of being airy and bull-headed, she had a good heart, always caring, always wanting to help. Ward was the kind to find purpose in helping others in need, like the girl she posed for.

Max felt a twinge of discomfort, not from a disliking of this other girl, but for who she was close with. Long blonde hair framed her denim jacket and denim short-shorts, exposing almost entirely the girl's shapely legs down to her shin-high boots. Max took in the sight of Taylor Christensen, another member of the Internationale, and a personal friend to the apathetic Queen of Blackwell sitting next to her, Victoria Chase. Max had no idea what Taylor was like alone, and not in the company of her— _cough_ —Queen, so she could only hope that Christensen wasn't as horrid as Chase was.

Max made her way past the four tables up front, all the way to the back of the classroom, passing by the last student in the class, a lean-built, bespectacled lad by the name of Daniel DaCosta. From what she remembered when they first introduced themselves, Daniel had immigrated from Spain, following the dissolution of the European Union in early 2012. He had mentioned something about how his home country was flooded with migrants from the unending conflict zones in Europe, and thus making Spain a hotbed of crime due to poor management and cultural differences brought by the arrivals. He seemed kind, but Max hardly knew him and hardly cared to bother.

She placed herself in her favorite seat, back of the fifth table, in the back of class. Never would she consider sitting up front where all the eyes could—no, _would_ —be on her. Max liked being the wallflower, it allowed her the opportunity of seeing the world from an outsider's perspective, and not have to pry herself open in exchange. She knew it to be selfish in that sense, but it was second nature to her, to be invisible in plain sight.

Max felt another bout of discomfort, and checked herself to see if something was wrong. Finding nothing, she looked to all the other students, her gaze finally resting on a lone table, closer to the back, with a computer occupying half the desktop and a giant printer machine perched next to it, hunched in the corner of the room. The chair opposite the computer, usually occupied, was sitting vacant, untouched. It filled Max with a sudden weight in her heart and she partially knew why.

_Kate._

Max had one, and only one true friend in Blackwell. It was on the moving day, a week before the semester would start and everyone was situating themselves into the dorms. A blonde, petite and bright like a shining star, had knocked on her door, asking Max if she needed help. At the time, Max assumed that this girl was just trying to gain a favor from her, but she dissuaded the notion as they got to know each other. Her name, as Max found out, was Kate Marsh, a devout protestant, born three doors down from her in the same hospital, in the same year, only nine days apart. A heart of gold is what defines Kate best, her ability to be forgiving to mostly anyone who wrongs her was what awed Max the most. The blonde liked to set up tea dates with Max in her room, and they'd sip any flavor of tea she had brought from her grandparent's home in Spokane, and talk 'till the afternoon light would dim.

It then seemed unfair to Max, that her only close friend in this school just so happens to be the ever-constant punching bag by the likes of Victoria and Nathan, they who seemed to have a vendetta against the Christian for some unspecified reason. Frankly, it upset Max to no end. To see Kate absent from photography class, knowing it was the only class they shared, worried her even more. A quick check of her phone revealed that they hadn't texted each other since last Friday, when Kate had gone to that party; Max fretted even more. Terrible possibilities played out in her head, and she shook them away, running a hand through her bangs.

_She's fine. Stop worrying so much._

As if gripped by intuition, Max felt the sudden urge to check up on Kate. Yet, Mr. Jefferson walked into the room and instructed the class to take their seats, some students like Dana and Alyssa excused themselves to the classrooms they were supposed to be at. Max brought herself from her thoughts and tried her best to focus on the coming lesson and deal with her concerns later.

* * *

"Alright, now that I've sufficiently bored you all about the abilities of editing in Photoshop, we'll now get to the final point of this lecture—" and just like that, Max observed the whole class rise with rapt attention, finally interested in Jefferson's words, "As you know, should any of you end up out there in the art world, you will at least once in your life be required to work with someone who is more than likely different from you in many ways. The ability to cooperate with these people, despite those differences, is the cornerstone of being successful."

He calmly sauntered over to the teacher's desk, grabbed a sheet of paper, then placed himself in front of the blackboard, in front of everyone. He cleared his throat and then smirked, wolfish and giddy. Max found him to have a habitual need for dramatics.

"You all will be assigned partners, and with these partners you will be doing a mini-project. This project is going to be due sometime after the Everyday Heroes Contest, and involves you finding a unique and—most importantly—unexpected side to your partner. Something I nor anyone else have seen from them. I want you all to get acquainted with your partner, as I will not be reassigning anyone from this point on."

He began listing off coupled names, but Max was too focused on that empty seat, taunting her since the beginning of class. Had she even noticed that Kate was also absent on Monday? She had thought over time and time again how she could excuse herself from class and rush to Kate's dorm room, but she didn't want to earn the ire of Mr. Jefferson. She felt so conflicted about it, she almost didn't hear Jefferson call out her name—

"Maxine Caulfield, you'll be partnered with Victoria Chase."

Now everyone's eyes were on her, including the pixie blonde that was now her partner, who outright glared at the brunette. Max instinctually shrunk in her seat—if this day had anymore curveballs for her she'd probably have a breakdown and hole herself up in her room.

Jefferson, her idol, seemed entirely oblivious to the fate he'd laid upon Max, and she felt her emotions stir a bit at such. Once he had finished calling names, he beckoned them for an early dismissal. In seconds, everyone was up and about, some talking with their assigned companions and sparking a conversation.

But not Max and Victoria.

Immediately when Jefferson dismissed the class, Chase was out of her seat and out the door, as her minion, Taylor, followed behind post haste, leaving Max all by herself.

Max couldn't care less.

She didn't want to have to talk to a prissy rich girl like Victoria when she had much more pressing matters. She was in the middle of gathering her things when her phone buzzed, she pulled it from her jeans pocket to see she had received a text message, from an unknown number.

* * *

_So much for a normal one-on-one, then._

Max navigated the winding trail leading up the mountain that surrounded the entire east side of Blackwell campus, towards the location that she was directed to. Judging by the condescending tone of the text message, Max was almost certain it was Victoria, trying to rile her up and play hard-to-work with. If she was being truthful to herself, though, Max wasn't that disheveled about having to hike to the specified location.

Hiking reminded her of the time her family went camping, mostly to get away from the struggles of downtown Seattle city life. Her father, a mighty bear of a man named Ryan, had found this nice spot just on the boundary of Olympic National Park, where they could go down a mile or so to Lake Cushman and fish for hours on end. Max thought of those perfectly cooked marshmallows squished together between Keebler graham crackers, and looking to magenta sunsets, and the smell of petrichor, laughing to stories her dad would pull from nowhere about shenanigans he did when he was young. Her mother, Vanessa, would always be so worried sick about Max and her dad being back before rain or dark, always doting, always chiding like the mother hen she was.

Max suddenly felt so hollow, knowing her parents were likely missing her a lot.

The brunette walked the curve in the path, past the thick bunching of pines to her left, and into the clearing, where a single bench sat forlornly near the edge, looking over the expanse of the academy and the town below. On said bench, was the pixie blonde that Max was partnered with, a lit cigarette poked from lips and billowed a faint trail of smoke.

"…um, Victoria?"

The blonde took a drag from her cigarette, then flicked it to her feet, stomping the flame out before it could touch the nearby grass. With a slight turn of her head, she spoke, like honey, like venom—

"Caulfield."

Chase stood and faced the brunette, her eyes scanned the peasant before her and she did her best to bite back a comment on Max's tasteless attire, "I'm saying this once, and if you space out again, I'm just gonna leave you to guess, 'cause I'm not repeating myself to you."

So unbelievably arrogant, so unashamedly haughty; it was everything Max disliked about Victoria and god did the Queen know how to use it, "I'm pretty sure it is physically impossible to make you be the opposite of whatever waif hipster act you constantly put on, but hey, if you're that good at deceiving others—you're not, by the way—then it shouldn't be that hard for you to come up with something _new_ and _original_ ," and Victoria took the time to air-quote those words. Perhaps she really did believe Max was incapable of self-expression.

Just twenty seconds in and Max already felt this was going to be a fruitless endeavor. In the hour and twenty-five minutes of the last school period—which was cancelled due to the teacher being sick without a replacement—and considering the time they had before she called it quits, Caulfield was sure they'd get nowhere with this project.

"Now, I'm not sure what kind of presentation of me you were thinking," Chase started, "but I know it to be impossible for you to capture what I'm like. So, unless you have some idea—"

"What are you like, then?"

A pause, as the Queen looks at Max incredulously, like she really would dare to speak over her superior. A peasant never had the gall, much less when face to face with the Queen herself.

"Excuse you?"

"What are you then, Victoria?" Max poked again, louder this time.

A scoff, airy and baffled by the seriousness Max delivered, Chase now looked amused.

"And just what the hell is that supposed to mean, Caulfield?" the Queen jested, a wicked smirk on her face. Emerald eyes were sharp and jagged with prejudice.

"I want to know what you think of yourself."

If Max was going to spend an hour and a half with Victoria Chase alone, then she was at least going to make it worthwhile. The Queen obliged to the entertainment.

"Nothing you've ever thought about me, I can assure you that. Now, let's—"

"Do you think I hate you, Victoria?" Max genuinely asked.

Another pause, this one more deliberate. Her brows scrunched up, frustrated at the lack of a decent answer.

"I don't know, why, should I? Do you think I concern myself with the opinions of those below me? I figured you'd be smarter than that, Maxine."

"I don't hate you, Victoria," Max curve-balled.

Gone was the smile, in its place was suspicion, "…why are you telling me this?"

"I'm telling you because, believe it or not, I really don't hate you. I really think you're a great photographer, y'know. You remind me of someone famous, like—like Richard Avedon, or…I don't know. Someone who wants to see the greatest truth in others, always trying their best, always achieving the most. The greatest strength you have is being able to guide people to a greater sense of purpose," Max fibbed.

The pixie blonde stood, muted. It seemed too unusual that she was complimented and referenced to the person who indeed inspired her passion of photography, more so by the one person she was sure outright despised her. Surely there had to be something beyond—

"But—"

There it is.

A sigh, before Max tried again, "Look, I admire you for what you can do, Victoria, but you don't need to be so…so _hostile_ to everyone. In only a few months I've seen how mean you can be, and I don't get why you do it. Like, sure, maybe you're just really competitive or something, I don't know. It still doesn't mean you can treat others like trash—"

"This is about _Marsh_ , isn't it?"

Max hadn't really wanted the point to be about how Victoria had been almost tormenting her friend Kate, but with the way the name came off Chase's tongue, so disregarding, so flippant, it triggered a feeling of agitation within the brunette.

"Yes, it is."

"That's all I needed to know."

The royal blonde about-faced and smartly walked to the front of the bench, picking up a black duffel bag Max hadn't noticed on the bench's wooden planks.

"We'll meet again when I'm more prepared and when you're not bullshitting me, maybe soon, hopefully never."

"Wait, you can't just—"

" _Yes_ , I fucking can, Caulfield," now she was done, entirely done with the conversation, and nothing Max could say would change Victoria's mind, "Now do me a favor and stay the fuck out of my sight until then—"

Unfortunately for the Queen, she did not account for a strap, hanging loose off the metal armrest being snagged as she hoisted the bag to her shoulder, the sudden resistance causing her to jerk and lose her balance. Trying to sway towards the bench, Victoria ended up flailing, and rolled off the edge onto the heavy, lumpy rocks surrounding the clearing.

Stunned from the fall, Chase was unresisting to the pair of arms that wrapped around her torso and pulled her from the rocks to a slightly less aggravating spot on the gravel. The blonde only saw the sky then, blue and dull from the angle of the late afternoon sun. Her entire back felt worn away by sandpaper, so itchy and pain ridden. A bob of brown hair in her peripheral caught her attention and she looked to Max, seeing the girl pull a red pouch from that ratty messenger bag at her side.

Victoria became flustered, even more so when she couldn't exactly parcellate why she was feeling flustered in the first place. Watching her sworn rival fiddle with the roll of gauze and disinfectant, and tend to the bleeding wound on her kneecap, she can't help but really think about her words, the entire conversation leading up to this.

Victoria had given Max every reason to want to leave, and she was perfectly fine with that. If anything, she'd hoped to rile up Max enough to snap a picture of the brunette when she was angry, maybe then Victoria could have what she wanted and leave Max in the dust. A slight sting accompanied the pressure on her joint, as Max applied the gauze.

Yet here she was, being helped from her blunder by her not-friend-but-not-enemy. Christ, what even was Max at this point?

"What the hell are you?"

Max finished wrapping the bandage, and locked eyes with Victoria, "What?"

"What the hell are you, Caulfield?" Victoria repeated.

A cautious shrug, "I don't know. I'm me, I guess."

"That's not— _sigh_ —why are you being so nice to me?"

Max took some time to answer. When she did, she did not shy away from Victoria, and instead, truly looked the royal blonde in the eyes.

"Because I believe there's someone inside you that's the real you, and not whatever you show everyone else, and I feel like she's been put aside for so long, she doesn't know how to express herself."

Victoria was twitching with discomfort at the words. It seemed to her then and there, that Max wasn't looking at her, rather she was looking _into_ her, at what she herself could not look at. It was disturbingly unfamiliar, this foreign feeling of bareness, of vulnerability, and Chase rose to her feet, taking a seat at the bench, as distant to Max as possible. She occupied herself with pulling the black duffel bag off the dirt and onto her lap, clutching it, checking to make sure all was in order.

Taking the hint, Max sat down on the opposite end, choosing to twiddle her thumbs to occupy herself. Victoria decided to look down at the school, hearing the gentle breeze now whisper in her ear, watching the students below move around the campus like mini figurines, like ants to the grand, external ant hill.

"I'm sorry."

Victoria spared a glance to Max, and noticed the brunette had found the dead grass at her feet more interesting for whatever reason.

"What are you sorry for? I should be the one apologizing," the Queen eventually muttered.

"I'm sorry for being all psycho-analytical there. I didn't mean to strike a chord—"

"Caulfield, stop."

For the first time since her fall, Victoria took control.

"You're…you're right. You're right about what you said. You know I also can't necessarily do anything to change it. I've placed myself on the top because I want to be there, even with its cons. I just—"

A sigh, a reach for her breast pocket on her now dirty black designer shirt left Victoria with no carton of Marlboros, and she felt her brows furrow, noticing the contents spread wildly over the rocks below, "I just can't change myself like that, I can't just show up tomorrow and be all turned leaf or some shit. Those who'd do anything to tear me apart wouldn't hesitate to knock me off my place, and then what?"

"I'm not asking you to become a different person, Victoria," Max's light-grey hoodie, while bland and tasteless, caught Victoria's attention as it glowed a bright shade of white whenever Caulfield awkwardly shrugged her shoulders.

"Then what do you want from me?" Victoria looked to her.

Max looked back, "I want you to realize you don't have to hurt people to get to your dreams."

And Max had this look, something new, something Victoria had never seen her with before, but she'd forgone the point of this meeting. Max's look of determination carried more feeling than her two-thousand dollar DSLR camera could ever recreate, so pointed and demanding of her to be the person she could be, that she ought to be. Perhaps, Max wasn't her friend, but Victoria could tell when someone cared about her enough to warrant not being a rival in any sense.

* * *

A/N - The Blackwell Internationale, in part with the divergence of this story from the original plotline in Life is Strange, is the school-endorsed, student-led club on campus, its goal being the "fostering of companionship and solidarity between students, by students, for students." Founded in the early stages of Blackwell's academic life in the year 1925, The Blackwell Internationale officially served as a space for students to come together and build relationships.

Over time, the club adopted a more politically diverse populous, following the Second World War and the Red Scare of the 1950's, and was the focal point of small-town Arkadia's civil rights movement. In the current decade of the 2010's, the Internationale has changed once more, into an elitist clique of urbanite upper-class students, and is the hosting organization for almost all of Blackwell's celebrations and holiday parties. This was further reinforced in the year 2011, when control of the clique was given over to then sophomore and school prince, Nathan Prescott.

After affirming his control, and with the assurance that the school principal, Mr. Raymond Wells, would not intervene on Blackwell's behalf for his actions, Prescott conducted a slow, calculated purge of all members in the club that were of no use to him, or actively disapproved of him. Following this purge, the Internationale was rumored by the ostracized student populous as a cult of social elites, with a hive mind of beliefs and opinions that center and/or benefit the prince himself. It became commonplace for these excommunicated students to call members of the Internationale "hounds", as their reputation of fierce loyalty to their club president became the source of many verbal and physical disputes in Blackwell. A serious divide in the student body became apparent in late 2012, when the Internationale began a practice of hosting parties on-campus for its members exclusively. Public outcry over the favoritism for the club's members and lack of discipline by the school administration led to localized student protests.

In order to curb public opinion about the club and by extension the admin of Blackwell, it was negotiated by Principal Wells and Internationale President Nathan Prescott, that the parties for Internationale members exclusively would be abolished, and all parties hosted by the club be mandated public. In return for this, Principal Wells would, under threat of staggering Prescott influence, turn a blind eye to Nathan about including forms of entertainment in such parties that would otherwise not be tolerated on campus grounds, such as the serving of alcoholic substances and various types of narcotics. The Internationale stands as the largest and most influential club in Blackwell, and is speculated to remain such for the rest of the academy's lifetime.


	4. Dreams of Old

"Each of us makes his own weather, determines the color of the skies in the emotional universe which he inhabits." - Fulton J. Sheen

* * *

Max walked down the steps and took a left, through the corridor between the two brick walls that separated the main building and the girl's dormitory, and turning right at the gate entrance to the latter. She took in the sights of the dorm courtyard. Before her was a web of concrete paths with vibrant green grass in its plots, and to her left, the giant pine trees around the eastern perimeter that rose with the mountain made for a stunning view.

Max didn't focus on this for long though, as she bee-lined it to the dorm entrance, pulling the aluminum handle on the door and hurrying inside. She walked with a begrudging sigh, taking the stairway opposite to the hallway of the first-floor rooms, up one flight, two flights of stairs, then opening the entrance to the rooms on the second floor.

She made her way past the rows of wooden doors, walking up to one labeled with the number plate _219_. She snuck a glance at the door opposite to hers and off to the right, Room _222_ , and sighed again.

_Just get the flash drive, and you'll be back in a moment. It'll be fine. She'll be fine._

She opened her door and was greeted to the homely abode within. There was a bed to her immediate right, and a standard built-in closet on her left, along with a black leather couch and a wooden desk that had been provided by the school, all of which were strewn with Max's personal items. The four walls of the space had been sparsely decorated with posters of various bands, artists, and a string of interior décor lamps that hovered over her bed, rarely used.

She made her way over to the desk, to where one of her most precious possessions, her laptop, sat unused since last night. Tossing the thought of AP English notes aside, she snatched her other dearest possession, the flash drive, and checked her phone.

She had received a message from another companion she had in Blackwell, a self-ascribed geek named Warren Graham. Max liked Warren, and Warren liked Max. She enjoyed having a friendship with him, especially since they shared classes together and he'd help her out with science and chemistry, the bane of her academic existence. However, she wasn't up for the whole romance thing that he wanted, and she cursed her heart for letting him think otherwise for far too long. She had told him in a moment she wished was better timed, after class on a warm September afternoon, when he'd asked her to walk with him for a relaxing stroll in Arkadia Park. Yet he took it well, saying he needed time to get over his feelings. That was weeks ago, and now everything was relatively normal, enough to where she felt appreciative of him letting her borrow a flash drive containing movies that she'd wanted to see but had no money to buy.

Except now he was asking for it back, saying he needed it for something important.

She wished he'd be more open about why, but she wasn't interested in trying to open any old wounds.

So she retraced her steps out the dorm, through the corridor, past the quad in front of Blackwell's main building, past the gymnasium, and down a flight of steps to the parking lot. Looking over the packed lot, she spotted Graham with his car, a small little Hatchback, blue and weary like the boy himself. Shaggy, nape-length curled brown hair blew slightly with the breeze as Warren smiled, waving her over.

"Max, hey."

"Hey Warren," she smiled back.

"D'you get the drive?"

Max fumbled the drive out her pocket, he took it and nodded his thanks.

"So, how's it been? You look a little out of it."

Self-consciousness stunned her. Max now worried about how she looked.

"I've had a helluva day, Warren," Max replied, running a nervous hand through her bangs, "same goes for yesterday as well."

He's got a stupidly curious glint in his eye, but he shows enough concern to mask it. He chooses to rest on the hood of the Hatchback, his hands in his jeans pockets.

"You up to talk about it?"

"Not unless you open up about what you need the flash drive for."

Max said it with a dissuasive smile, letting him know she was joking with him, but he was caught up in her words. Graham looked over the lot, and Max realized he was being serious when he rose from his laxing spot on his car, looking her in the eye.

"It's got something to do with Prescott," he furrowed his brows at the name, "someone snuck into his room after that party last Friday, and found a whole stash of drugs or something like that. I don't know the details, but they needed a flash drive to keep a copy of the photos they got of it all, and I was the first one convenient for them."

Her interest piqued, Max inquired, "Wait, who are they, do you know who these people are, or—?"

"I don't wanna spill—" he stopped himself, reconsidering, "Max, can you promise me to keep this a secret?"

"I promise."

Again, Warren looked about the parking lot. When he was satisfied that they were away from prying ears, he spoke in a hushed tone, "I don't know who broke into his room, but it's mostly Juliet Watson's idea, her and Dana are— _ahm_ —were, a part of the Internationale before they got kicked out by Prescott, and I bet they got some beef with him over that."

He pulled out the flash drive, a simple design, slightly bigger than Max's thumb, "Since they're friends with Brooke, and she's close to me, they figured that I could help them take Prescott down a peg or two with this little guy right here."

He pocketed the drive, talking boldly once again, "And, well, who am I to disagree with that? I'm tired of him being an asshole to everyone else just because he's got all the money in the world. Y'know, I heard from some talk around here that his hounds been harassing people like Kate and whatnot, and I'm not sitting by while he does shit like that."

Max realized the power behind that statement and couldn't help but feel the sway of such power send goosebumps on her skin. The tyrant of Blackwell, and his entire livelihood, all at risk within the grasp of a small piece of technology. It was exhilarating, a power trip.

"So, what's been getting to you recently—"

"Hey, Graham," a rough voice called from behind Max.

She visibly flinches, and feels the memory of cool air and blue tiled walls as she turns, eyeing Prescott as he walks out from behind a nearby red truck— _his truck_ — and closer to the two. His face was tilted down, and Max could see the fire in his gaze, superseded by the cold atmosphere that hung 'round him.

"Scram fucker, I got some business with the girl."

She froze, like a deer in headlights.

_He couldn't have heard them, right? What if he did? What if he knew she was there, in the bathroom yesterday? He knows, he must know, oh God—!_

Nathan scowls, angled and predatory, and Warren immediately puts himself between Max and the encroaching heir, "The hell do you want, Prescott? If you think I'm gonna let you try and keep—"

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Graham."

Prescott stuffed his hands in the pockets in his letterman jacket, and Max tensed again, suddenly being confrontational wasn't such a good idea. Warren didn't care though, for he was too caught up in the glaring contest with Nathan to notice. The geek wanted an answer, and Nathan obliged him, "You want to know what I want Graham? Fine, I'll tell you what I fucking want—" the prince stepped into Warren's personal space, and that was all it took.

Warren instinctually shoved him away, not enough to send him sprawling, but enough to throw his balance off, to get him away. Yet Nathan swiftly countered, closing the distance again with a fist aimed at the boy's face, a sickening _thunk_ sounded as knuckles impacted Warren's cheekbone. Graham tried to roll with the swing but ended up sprawled on the asphalt, as Nathan lost himself to his rage, tackling the unprepared boy and wailing on him with all his might.

Max stood still, horrified, transfixed at the level of sudden brutality, it was infectious and frightening. She felt her resolve flare as she aided Warren, taking Prescott under his arms from behind and heaving back, throwing him off and giving Graham time to recover. Nathan flung himself from her grip and snarled at her, he hunched his back and coiled his heels. She awaited his strike with bated breath and clenched fists, taking comfort in the fact that if she were to die here, that others would go on and fight the tyrant in her stead.

A car horn dissuaded such a notion, as an incoming truck took both of them by surprise. They threw themselves back as the vehicle swerved short of hitting them.

It was all the distraction Warren needed to drop Prescott with a wild right hook from behind, nailing the rich boy in his right ear and sending him to the ground. The two boys tussled each other, and the fight devolved into a wrestling of will, of who had more strength than the other. Max looked on to see if Warren needed help again until—

"Max, get in here, now!"

The passenger door to the truck opened, and Max saw that it was Chloe who was driving the vehicle, the bluenette was waving her arm to her frantically, pleading with her to get out of the situation. Deciding quick, Caulfield jumped into the passenger seat, slamming the door and holding tight as Chloe gunned the engine, leaving the two boys and an approaching security guard behind in their dust.

* * *

"Damn, Max, if I had known that you were busy ousting that fucker from his throne all this time, I wouldn't've been so bitchy to you earlier."

A dry chuckle followed Chloe's jesting remark, as Max adjusted herself to the ragged cushions of her seat. Max wasn't upset at Chloe's brashness, but rather still hyped on the rush from being in, what technically counts, as her first fight. Sure, there'd been this one time in Seattle where she'd gotten a lucky swing on some homeless person trying to take her father's toolset, but that hardly counted as her dad had dealt with that hobo immediately afterwards.

But this? This was her high point, the apex of her street record here at Blackwell. She couldn't help but worry about the beating Warren took keeping Nathan occupied. Without him, she'd probably be a bloody mess on the ground, dead from one-too-many blows to the head.

But that's why she's got Chloe right now: to help her out of situations that would normally spell her untimely demise at the hands of outside forces.

They traveled the weathered grey asphalt of Oak Avenue, turning right onto Main Street and coming to a round-about intersection. Chloe took the route that directed them northwards, outside the town limits and if they traveled far enough, to Astoria.

Max didn't care where they ended up, she just wanted to be away from Blackwell and Prescott and everything that gave her stress. She trusted Chloe to guide her to where her heart could beat with ease, despite it only being a day since they reunited. It felt so surreal to her in that sense, to be so comfortable around each other despite the gap of time stretching between them. Perhaps, it only stems from the feelings that one harbors for such misgivings, these horrid choices and outcomes that we forget we cannot always control. If such stretches of time _were_ to separate them, then they could not exist as friends, for what then would those memories of childhood they had created been for? What would become from discarding those moments, those adventures they had way back when?

Apparently, getting near mauled by some unstable rich kid gives her philosophical thoughts.

Max shook her head loose from this chain of thought, and watched as Chloe took an abrupt right, the rusty truck veering onto a dirt road with grass still growing in a line between the wheels. They jostled with the uneven terrain and came to a standstill outside a wire fence, surrounding the small biome of old, rusted forgettables. Old appliances, vehicles, worn out construction equipment, a sea of wood and mangled metal.

"Home sweet home."

The way Chloe says it reminds Max of when the bluenette once said that about her actual home, perhaps it meant that there was some grand memories that Chloe hadn't shared with her yet. They got out the truck, and Chloe legs it to a cinderblock structure farther in the back, shouting a _'come on Max!'_ over her shoulder.

Max took her time, walking slowly and admiring an old rusted car balanced atop a mountain of debris. Like alcoves in a museum, this shelter of chaos had left a space for one to walk through, enough to observe every trinket, every forgotten relic. Looking at a washing machine, its door having been ripped off and the cylinder looking torn within, Max couldn't help but think that this place reminded her of Chloe, in a way.

_Broken, forgotten. Icy blue eyes wide with fright._

A hand comes up to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration, with a sigh she focuses on the door—more a door-shaped opening—of the building, and walks in.

_It's 'cause of the weird shit I've been dreaming, that's all it is._

Through the threshold, Max takes in the space, seeing one wall layered with exotic articles of cloth; at least, exotic considering the materialistic standard of this junkyard. Above was a giant hole in the roof, the metal rebar still remained, but otherwise couldn't stop any rain to potentially flood the place. On two sides of the walls, opposite to Max and on her left, were makeshift benches, layered with not-so-dirty towels and facing a small round wooden table. Its surface was strewn with empty beer bottles, some takeout from a local restaurant, and of all things, a palette of makeup and polish remover. Chloe sat to her right in an old La-Z-Boy, nursing a freshly opened bottle of beer, lost in thought until Max damn-near tripped over an unseen baseball bat laying on the concrete floor.

The bluenette chuckled a bit, rising to a full blown laugh as Max gave her a signature Caulfield pout, with a smugness she countered, "Ya' should'a saw that coming, Maximus; always expect the unexpected. Like that baseball bat— _ow_ , hey!"

The trade of pouts was complete as Max gave Chloe's shoulder a light smack, the mousy brunette smirking her victory as her taller friend nursed her smacked deltoid.

"There, now we're even."

"Oh come on, I have a little chuckle, and now I'm the bad one? Ess-em-aych, Max."

A curve of the eyebrow was all Max would offer to Chloe, that and, "Essem-what?"

"Y'know? The acronym or whatever?"

"Uh…no?"

Price sits up from her languid position on the chair, taking a dramatic swig of the alcohol and letting out a content _Ahhh_ before looking back to Max.

"Jesus, you're so fucking clueless," Chloe chuckled, a mighty grin on her face, "come on Max, I know you didn't live under a rock all these years."

"Damn, Chloe, you really got me laughing here," the brunette deadpanned, "Seriously though, what the hell does S-M-H mean? Smack my hams?"

A snort was all she got.

"Chloe, come on, what does it mean?"

"It means 'shaking my head', Max, you _perv—_ " a wheeze, it shouldn't be this funny, it really shouldn't.

"Fucking— _wheeze_ — _smack my hams,_ " the punk was red in the face, then fell into a coughing fit, laughing so hard. A swig of the beer only paused her wheezing, and then she continued, much to Max's embarrassment.

"It really isn't that funny," Caulfield rolled her eyes as Chloe snickered madly, grinning despite herself. It was the dumbest shit alright, and it was true that Max never got behind the acronyms that most people used, but it was a bit funny. It seemed better to mess around like this, than do anything the outside world could offer her as of now, and Chloe was now in good spirits, "don't tell me you still say, ' _Oh my Dog_ ' unironically, I want to think you're still redeemable."

An indignant huff, "Oh come on, are you cereal? I haven't said that since seventh grade."

"Heh, _cereal_. Haven't heard that one in a while," Chloe cackled, then, more slyly, "also haven't heard about you getting a new boyfriend."

Max flushed, and spoke tersely, "Warren is _not_ my boyfriend, don't get your hopes up."

"I'm just sayin', you know how guys are. They get all protective an' shit only because they want something in return," another swig from the bottle, "least that's how it's been for all the guys I've seen."

"Warren isn't like that, Chloe," Max stood fast to her belief, "besides, I...I already talked to him about it. He knows how I feel about him, and we've accepted that."

Price side-eyed her, blank faced, then smiled ever the slightest, as if proud, "If you say so."

"Besides, this other girl is already on top of him anyways, it'd make no sense to ruin our friendship like that."

Chloe was mid-swig, and nearly choked on her drink as she spat it out, blindsided and cackling, "Damn, Max, _go on_."

A shake of the head, as the brunette also smiled too, "It's just, she wants him, and I don't want to get in the way of that."

Max takes a seat on one of the wooden planks, finding out that no, it doesn't hurt as much and it's actually rather homely once you ignore all the dust. Caulfield eyed the makeup set, perched between the green beer bottles and an empty carton of leftover Chinese food. She idly wondered what a perfectly good makeup set, only somewhat used if the full assortment of colors were anything to go by, would be doing here in a trashy place like this.

"That's Rachel's."

The somber inflection was what pulled Max from her reverie. She looked to Chloe, who eyed the plastic case like as if it were the very thing that broke her heart.

"It's her favorite of the three sets she has. There's this specific shade of shadow that she uses, the one right there," she pointed towards it, Max identified it as the one most used of them all, "It brought out her eyes every time she had it on."

Another swig, this time remorseful.

"I never told her before, but it was my favorite too, 'cause when she'd look at me all excited and happy, her eyes would shine."

As if the girl in question was right in front of her, Chloe stared into nothing yet everything, "She's the best thing I had all those years. I don't mean to be hurtful, Max, but she was there for me when you weren't. She saved me from doing real…really bad things—"

It did hurt, but Max took comfort in the fact that Rachel had been there for Chloe in her stead. After the jealousy, after the cloud of emotions swirling in her heart, the brunette realized that she'd accept the pain if it meant Chloe would feel a desire to keep going in life.

"We planned on getting the hell out of this place, her and I, just up and out to the great hills of LA. She'd be the model that she always wanted to be. I'd be a mechanic or somethin', and we'd have our own place, small and cheap, but it'd be _ours_. We would make it big one day, y'know, maybe she strikes a big contract, or I win the lottery or something, but one day."

Another swig, except Chloe realizes the little amount remaining is gone, already drunken in her nostalgic stupor. She tosses the bottle towards a small trash can a few feet away, a _clunk_ sounded as the glass sailed through the lid.

"That was our dream, and nobody could take that from us."

Chloe had something else on her mind, and the alcohol in her system spurred the bluenette even more, "It was this party, had something to do with the student club that fucker, Nathan, runs at Blackwell. Rachel wanted to go, but I got a bad case of the cold; I told her to go without me. I didn't think she'd—"

Fingers dug into the worn leather of the armrests as Chloe took a deep breath, steadying herself. Max watched as the tension in her friend's shoulders receded, like a flip of the switch, Chloe slumped back into her chair.

"I don't want to think she's gone, Max."

"When was the party, Chloe?"

"April, six months ago."

Six months. In a twist of cruel, morbid thought, Max wondered if Chloe would've searched for her for six months like she's done for this Rachel, with how much she meant to her best friend. Either way, there was a very good chance that Rachel had truly ditched Chloe, having found no use for the punk and fucked off to who-knows-where—

Or, most likely, Rachel was dead.

"Chloe, can I be honest with you?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't think Rachel is coming back," as soon as Max said it Chloe flinched, the pain of what could be the truth was powerful in that regard, "But if she's out there, we'll find her. You and me. Like pirates from way back when."

A light shines in Chloe's heart and is reflected in her sudden smile, an airy chuckle follows, "Yeah huh, the pirates of Arkadia. _Long Max Silver_ and _Cap'n Bluebeard_ , on the hunt for some grand treasure, lost to the wretched seas and time itself."

Rising from her seat, the captain looks to her first mate, renewed with the bond of friendship, tried and tested but still never broken, "Come the next morn, we'll ride once more, for riches, for adventure!"

"Aye-aye, Cap'n. For riches, for adventure—" a yawn interrupts Max's spiel, "For sleep, goddamn."

A laugh, hearty and full of life greets her broken mantra, and Max smiles, looking forward to the coming day.

* * *

A/N - It is of my own experience, as the writer, that I make this claim: Friendships are the building block to the fulfillment of a well-lived life. In tangent with the memories that one creates through these friendships, one may also create the feeling of trust, of _worth_ , that which cannot be separated easily by entropic entities like time. Max and Chloe's friendship stands as the prime example of what it is to be friends, to be companions, comrades, BFF's, whatever one defines it. While I refuse to proceed with anything farther than this platonic relationship, I understand why such conceptions of romantic feelings for these two are played out in canon and in many a fic. Indeed, we all wish for a trust that can supersede time itself, for without it we are left hollow, and in some cases, without meaning or purpose.


	5. Where the Light Doesn't Shine

"All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle." - St. Francis of Assisi

"The light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not." - Book of John 1:5, King James Version, America Edition

* * *

With a slight squeal of the brakes, the rusted and weary truck slowed to a stop at the drop-off zone in front of the academy, its passenger door opening a second after. A pair of worn chucks impact the pavement, and with a parting grace, Max waved goodbye to Chloe, watching the truck leisurely drive down the street to the lower part of town.

_Hell of an alcohol tolerance, that's for sure._

Scoffing to herself and shaking her head, Max thought her judgement of Chloe's driving to be harsh. It wasn't like Price had downed a keg of beer or something, just one bottle was all she had back at the junkyard. To be fair though, Max concluded that any amount of alcohol, whole bottle or otherwise, would really mess with her system if she dared to try it. Such is the plight of the lightweight.

She watched the dull orange glow of the outside lamps turn on, framing the brighter magenta sky above and the blackening ground below. She had half the mind to snap a pic of it, but then remembered the other six instances where she'd done the exact same thing and thought better of it.

So she made her way to the dorms, taking it slow this time and watching the slight gust blow the dried leaves of shrubs across the concrete, admiring the pines standing strong against the encroaching cold. Appreciative of her reliable grey hoodie, Max pushed the metal door open, basking in the slightly warmer air within the dorms.

 _Perhaps, some sleep is in order—wait, I forgot about that History assignment_.

With a groan, Max trudges up the steps and walks onto the second floor, shuffling her feet towards her door and ever so ready to curl up in her bed and _not_ do that meaningless assignment. Far too occupied with rekindling friendships and shaky dreams was she to be thinking of schoolwork. Yet no sooner had she closed her door and set her messenger bag down by her bedframe, did she get the buzz of a text message.

A weight completely forgotten up until now hits Max full force, and nearly sent her onto her bed from its strike as she sees who texted her.

 _Kate: Hey Max, could you bring back that book I let you borrow, 'The Storm of Steel'? I need it for an assignment coming up_.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck—fuck, _fuck_.

In a frenzy of panic, Max set about tearing through her room for the book, finding it on the small oval glass table next to her couch. Taking her stuffy shoes off, and fiddling with her hoodie nervously, Max typed out her response—

_Max: sure, i'll be right over_

And with a steadying exhale did Caulfield open her door, turning right, then crossing the hall and stopping at Room _222_. Indeed, she'd forgotten she was supposed to check up on Kate since she got sidetracked by Warren and Chloe. Well, _technically_ Kate doesn't know that Max was going to stop by earlier today, but it still burdened Max's heart that she'd completely sidelined her friend.

_Screw it, no time like the present._

With a gentle knock, Max waited for the muffled _'come in,'_ before opening the door.

It was dark. Terribly dark. Dark enough that the only source of light was the rays of the sun that reflected through semi-closed blinds. The room was more shadow than anything, and Max could only see Kate because of the white shirt the small blonde wore. Marsh was hunched over her desk in the opposite corner of the room, and between her and Max was a plethora of disregarded clothes, personal items Kate had forgotten to clean up—or most likely, didn't care to clean up.

The sorrow in this room, so small but ever lurking, weighed Max's shoulders down as she closed the door with a _click_ , and carefully treaded over to her friend. Kate didn't acknowledge her walk over, nor when Max stood behind her for a long moment, and only when Max approached her side and whispered her name, did she slightly jump and look towards her door.

"I-I thought you—," she cleared her throat, and spoke in a less raspy voice, "um, hey Max."

_She thought I wouldn't even stay._

"Hey, Kate."

In most cases, it's Max who is the source of awkwardness, tripping up on words if flustered and tripping over herself from spacing out. Yet now, Kate seems to have caught a bad case of Caulfield syndrome, as she fidgets in her chair, her eyes darting to the book Max held in her hands. Taking notice, Max holds it out to her.

"Here's your book," and Kate obliges, taking it and setting it on her desk.

"Thank you."

Again, with the silence.

Max looked to the small mirror next to the door. She hadn't noticed it until now, or the small towel that hung over it, blocking the glass reflection. The more she looked around Kate's room, the more she noticed the smallest of things. The full trashcan of tissues by the bed, an empty tissue box—two, actually—sitting on top one another on the nightstand, underneath the pitifully small lamp. On the desk, just out of reach, Kate's bible laid shoved to the side, its hard-cover was laden with dust. On the navy blue couch along the wall, her violin sat in its maroon-black case, also dusty and untouched.

Kate used to play her violin in the afternoons, right when classes would end, and everyone would settle into their dorms. It was Max's favorite part in the afternoons, to hear the perfectly somber tones the blonde would play. Even if the others on their floor did not like it, which Max doubted, she took solace in that she would be Kate's constant audience of one.

Kate never plays her violin anymore.

"…uhm, Max?"

"I'm sorry, Kate."

A pause, then, "What for?"

Max's gaze settled on the plant sitting on the top shelf of the desk, it's leaves forgone and looking to be on its deathbed. From where she stood, Caulfield could see how shriveled and brittle it was.

"I haven't hung out with you since last Friday, I didn't mean to ghost you like that."

"Max it's—" and Kate rotates in her chair, still hunched but now looking at the brunette, "It's fine, I don't expect you to be around me every day."

"I know. I just— _sigh_ —I want to make it up to you. Right now, if you don't mind."

Kate looked at her like a doll, lifeless, unknowing and—dare she say it—uncaring.

"…oh," the doll deadpans.

"Um, yeah—like, uh, how about a sleepover?" Max proposed, "We haven't done one of those yet."

"I can't remember ever doing a sleepover before," the blonde sadly pondered. Max frowned at the forced tone in that voice. It was wispy at the edges and carried with it a horrible emptiness.

_Something's wrong._

"Kate."

As if shook from a thought, she looked up, "yes, Max?"

No more dodging, no more tip-toeing, Max strengthened her resolve, "Is something going on? You seem…out of it."

Like that, a few words were all it took to snatch the little bit of life out of the blonde, and she immediately ducked her eyes to the carpet.

"I, uhm…" perhaps Kate was waging that little fight in her head, over whether she should tell Max what was troubling her. Max didn't know, she could only hope that Marsh would just look at her and give her something to go off of, _anything_.

Doubt strikes Max, and she fears that Kate's just trying to make her leave without being rude about it. She's not sure if she should, with how miserable her friend is acting.

"I'm fine with doing a sleepover," the petite blonde suddenly, softly declared. She stood and quietly rummaged through her closet space, pulling out her rarely used black backpack, and moving to carefully stuff her blanket into its confines. With her pillow tucked into one arm and the backpack hoisted onto her back by the other, Kate takes a plastic bag from the top drawer of her large dresser, pulling from it a single piece of the carrots within; and, with a pinch of hay, she gently sliding it into the cage that housed her lone pet bunny, Alice. Max realized that the Christian was dodging her last question, but let it slide. She needs to stop getting caught up in her doubts and just be there for her friend.

"I'm all set now, is your door unlocked?"

"Yeah, I'll be there in a sec. Gonna say goodnight to Alice."

Kate looks back at Max for a second, confused as to why the brunette would say such a thing, but dismissed the thought with a yawn, and excused herself out the room.

Max turned to the blonde's desk, and, peeling back the book she'd given to Kate, stumbled upon what had been nagging her when she first noticed. Upon the dark wooden surface were a couple letters, wrinkled at the edges and with what looked to be drying tear stains.

It was a habit of Max to be a bit of a nosy individual, but always had she justified to herself that she would only be a snoop to her close friends and no one else. In a situation where one wrong sentence or outspoken thought could lead to a very unfortunate consequence, Max was gonna take any advantage she got. So Max read the letters, and she quickly realized why they were so roughened. They were letters from Kate's family, one from her parents and one from her aunt. Both talked about Kate and what happened at the Internationale party the timid blonde went to last Friday.

_So that's why._

Max made a point to staying away from parties, especially ones hosted by Prescott and his club, and it seems Kate had walked into that trap unaware. Max had gone to bed after doing some homework that Friday night, so whatever happened to her friend, she had been asleep and unable to help. She reckoned _something_ must have happened, if Kate's parents and aunt sending her letters was anything to go by. A chiding frown swept her face, she should've been more adamant about not letting Kate go, she should've known.

The parents' letter was the more fully written of the two, the message written by Kate's dad was probably the best in regard to support. Kate's mother, on the other hand, came off as dubious at best. It was condescending, and Max dared to guess that the matriarch thought whatever happened at the party, whatever it _could've_ been, to be her daughter's fault. A frown grew the longer Caulfield eyed the passive-aggressive words, before shifting to the aunt's letter.

Whoever this 'Auntie Marsh' was, Max could only imagine her as a cranky old hoot, grumpy and with a wrinkly scowl on her face. Reading further and further down the letter, Max was met with scorn, even more scorn, and a bit of disappointment mixed in-between. That was all she could parcellate from the outright hostile tone that conveyed the words.

_What even is a Jezebel?_

It seemed so unusual of an insult to Max, but to a devout believer like Kate? It's no wonder Marsh looked so shaken. For while Max herself had no proper connection to her aunts and uncles like Kate did, Caulfield imagined it to be something much like what she had with her own parents, and it always hurt to hear her parents' scorn. Looking back to the hall, to where her room would be, Max now understood the hollow stare Kate had.

She likened that kind of blank look to this specific instance from some obscure documentary about the Great War that she'd watched when she was young. Her father was into those documentaries, always putting them on just before she would go to bed. Max never figured out why they fascinated her. Perhaps, she was curious, and wanted to understand why so many people, why whole nations, whole _cultures_ , could hate each other enough to tear each other apart with vicious savagery. Max only remembers this one scene of a soldier, eyeing the camera with a dead stare from under his helmet; and the camera had captured his dirtied, bloodied features, with sunken eyes and a trembling frown, and left him looking more like a ghost than a man.

She likened Kate to that man then. They both had the same feeling, the same half-lidded, sorrowful dull eyes, so worn and tired.

With a heavy sigh, she arranges the letters into the nice stack Kate had left them, placing the book atop and making her way back to her room.

* * *

"Uhm, Max?"

Caulfield looks to her leather couch opposite the bed, now clear of debris and draped with Kate's olive-colored blanket. The blonde sat in a crisscross on one side, arms wrapped around her pillow.

"There's…something I want to talk about."

Relief washes over Max, and she eases herself onto the couch next to her friend, looking to dimmed hazel eyes in a gesture to continue. Kate hugs the pillow tighter now, for it was the lifeline, the anchor.

"It's about the, uh…the party last week. The one I went to."

Max is silent, but every glance Kate sends is met with rapt attention, more and more words spill forth and it's all the blonde can say before the tears threaten to spill.

"I just wanted to see what everyone else does," she started, "you know, with their friends. I had heard from Dana and others that I should try going, to see if I'd like it. Yet," and Kate's brow furrowed with dread, "when I had gotten there, it was just… _stifling_. The music and the lights were just so suffocating. I figured I'd at least try the food and drinks, mother would always make me stay away from alcohol outside of communion, and I wanted to try it," the pillow is not enough, so Marsh disregards it, and instead hugs her legs close, her head resting upon her arms.

"It's not even the words that get to me. It's that nothing else matters to them. It doesn't matter that it was only one sip of wine—it's like they don't know what is done at every communion at church," a shaky inhale, "I'm nothing more than what they saw then, and they won't let it go— _sniffle_ —it won't stop, they won't stop with the tormenting and I'm sick of it. I was hopeful the police would hear me out, but after I went to them, they haven't done a single thing about it. I can't get out of this…this _damn_ loop, of nothing but hate."

There's a grief in her words that reminded Max of her reunion with Chloe, when the punk had bawled into her shoulder yesterday. But unlike Chloe, who avoided her pain through alcohol and maybe the occasional cigarette, Kate had nothing to vent her stress. Like dropping a Mentos into an open Coke bottle, the pain swells within the girl's being, overflowing and withering her interior until she is naught but a shell of her joyful self.

A half-choke half-sob broke the momentary silence, and Max eyed the tears rolling down reddening cheeks. Knowing it to be inevitable, Max hooks her arm around Kate's shoulders, drawing the shaking girl close and giving her the unspoken permission to cry.

" _I just_ —" and another sob interrupted whatever Kate was going to say. Max cooed into the weeping girl's ear, choosing to whisper hollow nothings to ease the pain. Kate shook, her entire body tensed with each intake of breath. Caulfield knew that Marsh was never one to cry about much, always had her positivity stood firm against whatever life had thrown at her. Now, though, she was so weak, so tired of the cruelty from her peers, that every word spun in a negative light struck her heart and left her feeling void of what gave her worth. Kate hated being unable to withstand such vitriol the most. For even when Max whispered that it couldn't be her fault, the blonde surged with self-hatred, and her sobs became harsh as her throat was constricted more so.

"I'm right here, Kate. It's okay."

Max drew her friend into a proper hug and held on tight as the blonde shuddered the peak of her woes out of her system. Max laid her head atop Kate's messy bun of hair, gently taking her left hand and tracing small circles on the blonde's scalp. Caulfield was resigned to silence now, it was the least she could do for Kate; Marsh needed a real friend, not the flaky person that she'd been up until recently.

Slowly, the shudders subsided to slight shivers, the sobs grew shallow and less sapping of energy. Kate slumped in Max's embrace, giving a faint hiccup every once in a while, as the silence grew longer between gasps.

A whole minute, when Max looked to the small digital clock on her nightstand and saw the numbers shift once again; a single minute of silence followed, and the comfort of being the figurative angel for a dear friend kept her from speaking. Max was afraid she'd break the tranquility that comes after a good cry, or bad, it didn't matter in this case. It was the small blonde clinging to her that broke the silence, a small, raspy voice that was hollow, devoid of being.

"It hurts, so much."

Max hesitated, and held still as Kate continued, "It hurts being alone. I keep thinking that I'd be some pious being that can take whatever they throw at me, but I can't. I'm not good enough—"

Kate eased herself from Max's hold and looked tiredly to the brunette.

"And if I can't help myself from this hell, then how am I to help my friends, like you?"

Max felt the little glimpse, that single moment of pure recognition, that came with such genuine humility. She sat stunned, for how should she answer such a question? Should she even dare to, or was it meant to be unanswered, like a rhetorical question that had no truth or every truth behind its unspoken answer?

"Do you think what happened was your fault?"

Kate's eyes couldn't meet her own, "I mean, what if they're right, Max? What if it was all my fault, for going in the first place? I just—"

"Stop."

A lone index finger shushed Marsh, though it was unnecessary as Max's serious look nullified her excuses, "Don't ever think something like that, it's not your fault and you know it. No one gets that drunk off just one sip, something must've happened to you."

Max gripped the one hand that Kate hadn't detached, cradling it like a vise, "Kate, I know you feel horrible right now, but I want you to do this, I _need_ you to do this: Fight, if not for me then for yourself, for these people can't beat you if they're proven wrong."

A trick of the light, perhaps her interior lights shone perfectly then, but Max could see the gleam in Kate's eyes, the swell of tears, hopeful and revived of the one thing the Christian wished for days on end. That chance of redemption, from the hands of those who had wronged her. And a small, lopsided smile, so unusual as Kate hadn't a reason to smile for so long, snaked across lips and there it stayed.

"You're right, Max, you're right."

* * *

The sudden blaring chatter of the alarm clock rung into the quiet abode. It's song of monotonous beeps roused the passion of a hand, that which slipped from the covers of the nearby bed, and with a skillful _smack_ , silenced the cries of the offender. A moment of the previous peace reigned, before the sheets were shuffled aside, revealing their owner, half awake, rubbing the grit from tired eyes.

With a sigh, Max slumped up and out of bed, scratching an itch away on her lower back and glancing over to her couch. A messy mop of blonde hair poked from a figure draped with a thick, olive blanket. Shuffling closer, Max discerned the calm expression adorning Kate's face, and felt herself warm up inside, knowing her friend slept without any burden for once in the longest time.

Half tempted to let the blonde sleep, the time on the clock beckoned her to haste. They had only one hour until classes would start, and Max knew enough about Kate that she'd rather an early rise than be rushed by ten minutes 'till. Placing her hand upon a shoulder, Max gently shook Kate awake, and Marsh peeked through her bangs and smiled, greeting this Wednesday morn with a yawn.

"'Morning, Kate."

"Good morning, Max."

A smile communicated their words better as of now, and the two went about their morning routines. Max decided for something more comfortable than anything, that being the many pairs of loose jeans she had in her wardrobe, accompanied by a plain white t-shirt, with a simple black decal of a doe in its center. Kate took her time in sorting her pillow and blanket into a neat pile, and bade Max a temporary farewell: they were going to walk to class together, and perhaps their day would fare a lot easier knowing they had each other for support.

Max fit her gray hoodie into place, admiring herself for that one second of outfit ingenuity before the depression over a lack of choices bit her again. Taking her messenger bag, Caulfield was reaching for her analog camera when a wail resounded from the hall, so sudden and terrified.

Forgetting the camera, Max immediately darted out her room, looking left, then right, witnessing Kate crawl from her open door like a madwoman, the blonde twitched this way and that, bawling unintelligibly.

" _Kate!_ " Max rushed to her side, enveloping Marsh in a tight hug, and looked to the cause of the petite girl's cries.

The blonde's dorm room, having been slightly uncared for but still a livable place, was now completely trashed. The drawers from the closet and dressers within were thrown from their racks, the blinds were shredded and laid in pieces below the windows. Along the opposite wall, in a dried, dark red hue, was some kind of graffiti-paint, the words, _NO ONE FUCKS WITH ME BITCH_ written in scratchy, impatient strokes.

In the wake of the threshold, just past the open door, was the bloody corpse of Kate's bunny, Alice.

Heaving, the shattered blonde shook like a leaf, clinging to Max and trying her hardest to not break-down, and failing horribly. A commotion of opening doors and hushed voices filtered into the hall, as the other dormmates looked to them, confused. Yet, Max didn't care about them, for she was too busy trying to keep Kate in the realm of sanity, as she watched every piece of her friend's life crumble to oblivion.

* * *

A/N - _The Storm of Steel_ by Ernst Jünger, is a book recounting Jünger's experiences as part of the Rifle Regiment of Prince Albrecht of Prussia ( _73rd Hanoverian Regiment_ ) in the Great War. Most notable about this book concerning the Great War, especially compared to the more popular, more socially accepted interpretation by Erich Maria Remarque's _All Quiet on the Western Front_ , is that there existed not the totality of defeatism and senselessness of war from men like Remarque, but rather was there also a belief of genuine purpose, that which can be achieved through feats of human/superhuman bravery. For men like Jünger, there was no greater theater of provenance than the theater of war, perilous and merciless as it was, to show the true capabilities of Man and to transcend their previous existence, however normal or cumbersome it may have been. It is this transcending of existence, that which I, as the writer, appeal to in regards to being a better person in times of crisis, where it seems the world has nearly crushed one's sense of being.

It is by my sole opinion, then, that I believe DONTNOD's canonical presentation of Kate to be ludicrous at best. Given the benefit of the doubt, she is not a main character, and most likely serves as a catalyst to exploring Max's powers and its limits. So I reserve my grievances for myself, and try my best to abstain from favoritism, as Kate is indeed my most beloved character in _Life is Strange_ ; but I cannot accept the idea that a girl as strong-hearted as Kate, who is known most prominently for her faith, her forgiveness, and love for her family and friends, is so easily pushed over the edge by a single, albeit very damaging factor. I do not argue the potency of social stigma when it comes to the ruining of one's reputation and destruction of one's principles, for that is indeed a very critical part of our dependency to the world, and if it be the only facet that one has, its destruction would surely be catastrophic. Rather, I argue that social stigma _alone_ cannot be enough to bring about the idea of something as serious as what occurred in Episode Two of _Life is Strange_ , and that for someone who is as rigid in her faith as Kate is, it would require a more serious, more _personal_ destruction to consider a sin like self-harm, or worse. It is therefore imperative to Kate, that she either transcend her current existence by appealing to her faith and friends, or be doomed to drown in the liquid toxicity of her peers, alone and crushed in spirit.


	6. Omen of the Spineless

"Self-pity is easily the most destructive of the non-pharmaceutical narcotics; it is addictive, gives momentary pleasure and separates victim from reality." - John Gardner

"Intolerance is the virtue of not accepting or tolerating evil. There is nothing worse for tolerance to be preached as if it is something holy, when in reality, it is one of the worst sins ever - a form of serious evil." - Unknown

* * *

From the initial incident all the way to the present moment, Max could only assume it to be Nathan or Victoria. Both have the potential to be this cruel to Kate and get away with it without a scratch, it was simply a matter of deducing who.

So Max thought about every possibility that the two could've used to be at the right place at the right time. All the scenarios, all the possibilities, every chance and logical outcome.

And she clung so tightly to the saving grace of this whole mess: that Kate was with her in her dorm room having a sleepover. For if Marsh had not accepted her offer, and stayed in her little dark shell—

A shake of the head, clearing the chain of thoughts.

 _Focus_.

While Max highly suspected Nathan of committing the act, it seemed to be too much trouble for the end result. He may be the Prescott's heir and President of the Internationale, but he was still a Blackwell student, which meant he wasn't able to go around to places where he wasn't supposed to with impunity. Even if he'd gone to the girl's bathroom that one time, Max couldn't be sure if it was an outlier of his actions or if he regularly violated proper social etiquette. The ominous graffiti painted on Marsh's dorm wall rung her suspicions however, for those reckless brushstrokes reminded her of Nathan too much, they were too perfectly apt for his brash, erratic nature. Regardless, he'd need an excuse or some way of approach that didn't rouse the suspicions of any of the female students in the dorm building, which was near impossible. Max deduced that Nathan was unable to be remotely stealthy, if her encounters with him were anything to go by, and thus couldn't have vandalized Kate's room.

That left Victoria.

While both had the motive to carry out the act, only Victoria had the means to achieve it. Excluding the fact that both of Max's suspects were rich beyond measure, Victoria had the advantage of living in the dorm and being on the same floor as Kate, by all means Chase could simply wait until Kate left her room, pick the lock of the door and then tear the ever-loving shit out of the place, and leave the smaller blonde to wallow in the remains. Yet there was a problem that stuck out like a sore thumb, the figurative thorn stuck in the side of Max's conclusions.

Victoria would not, in good conscious, kill Kate's bunny, Alice.

Sure, it was a bit of a stretch, especially given how the pixie blonde had treated both Max and Kate for a good two months, but Max just felt it to be true. She didn't like trusting her emotions to make a judgement of someone in most cases, but with this, she found it to be different, an exception to the rule. Thoughts about their intervention on Tuesday brought with them a light of recognition, casting doubts to who Victoria was as a person to Max. It didn't excuse that she thought Victoria had something to do with what happened.

Max had made sure that Kate wouldn't do anything rash, having ushered the blonde back to her room and promising Marsh that she'd help out with any work that she'd miss. Kate was in no position to go to class, not with how broken she looked after the tears had stopped flowing. Max didn't leave her until she was promised that her friend wouldn't wander off to God-knows-where and hurt herself. Caulfield didn't want to risk the chance of losing Kate, no matter how small or ridiculous it was.

The brunette had gotten a copy of Kate's schedule from the backpack Kate barely used, and reveled in that Kate had a copy of the schedule; it'd make her efforts to help the crumbling blonde that much easier. From there she'd gone to Kate's classes and talked to the teachers about the situation. Even with her awkwardness, the news that spread through the school after the incident did most the talking for her, and the teachers were understanding in Max's efforts.

It is now in photography class, as she takes her seat, that Max felt herself slump from the weight of social interactions, of which she'd had one too many in her opinion. Yet, if it meant that Kate could still get through this torment with minimal effect, then Max considered it a victory. All it took was talking to Jefferson about whatever assignment he'd pull from his sleeve like a sort of trump card.

Class starts, and Jefferson begins the theatrics about an in-class worksheet they had to complete. It was truly odd, as it was rare for them to be given work that was due in one class period, they'd been so used to Jefferson's insistence of project-based assessments since the start of the semester. Whatever her idol was planning, it must be something grand, busywork was merely the filler for the time he needed.

This worksheet was tedious and all, but what curved everyone, including Max, was that it was to be worked on with their assigned partners from yesterday.

* * *

"Caulfield."

"Victoria."

It was civil, and Max wasn't gonna complain about how Chase was not insulting her attire in the first thirty seconds like many a time before. The pixie blonde took her spot next to Max's seat, facing her chair towards the brunette and silently going about the first few questions. Looking to the sheet, it was asking them to describe the process of how they'd achieve their goal of capturing their partner in such the rare instance, and other wonderfully vague questions of the sort. Max heaved a sigh, shoving the paper away and tucking her lone mechanical pencil in her jeans pocket.

"What, are you not going to do it?" Victoria whispered.

Max looked to Victoria and merely shrugged, "I can't focus on this, I've got other things on my mind right now."

Max appreciated that despite her bitchy exterior, Victoria was at least perceptive enough to know of the stress, and returned back to her worksheet with a pensive look.

"I see."

"I'm still wondering who did it, you know."

Victoria then snapped her gaze up and looked to Max with that scowl, the kind she associated with Chase getting defensive and cranky as all hell. She probably shouldn't have said that so slyly.

"What, you think I did it?" Victoria hissed, eyes glancing to the class to make sure no one was paying too much attention to them.

Max hesitated, eyes darting from the page to the waiting blonde and back again.

"I didn't mean to sound accusing, but you obviously hate her for some reason. I wouldn't put it past you."

The royal blonde snickered spitefully, "Oh, now that's just fucking cute."

A scoff, "Can you blame me? You've given Kate so much shit for the past two months, and now you act all like, ' _I'm the victim, woe is me,_ ' when someone calls you out on it."

"Fuck off, Caulfield. I might be cold-hearted, but I sure as hell wouldn't waste my time with trashing that bible-lover's room."

"Well if it wasn't you, then who did it?"

A pause, Victoria had forgotten about her work and was actively thinking about who could possibly hate Kate enough to sack the girl's room like that. Max felt bold, and she dared to pressure the Queen.

"She told me about what happened to her at that party."

Victoria's eyes, a sharp shade of emerald green, locked onto Max's cobalt counterparts as Caulfield continued, "She didn't place any names, but I'm sure that you saw what happened, didn't you?"

A smirk, prideful and cocky, snaked its way across the Queen's lips, "Would you even think any better of me if I said no?"

At that sarcastic dissuasion, Max visibly, silently bristled, sitting up from her slouch and Victoria was taken by surprise at the sheer amount of hatred that was suddenly directed at her. Chase tensed, for Max looked ready to tear her a new one right in front of the whole class, but Caulfield held herself at the last moment. She deflated, sinking back into the black plastic chair and scowling her wrath at the homework instead. A turmoil brewed beneath her brows.

"The hell was that about?" Victoria whispered, mostly to ease herself of the tension.

"It's just— _sigh_ —I invited Kate to a sleepover last night. She opened up to me about what happened to her, and it didn't go well. She...she broke down, I felt so bad for her because I know that she doesn't deserve any of the shit people are saying about her," Max leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, closer to Victoria, "and I knew that she needed someone to be there for her, the same way that she'd been there for me."

Edging closer, Max shortened the distance separating the two partners. Victoria didn't pull away, mostly confused by Max's words, "So when she finds out this morning that someone's fucked up her room, she's hurting even more than before—Victoria, I had to drag her back to my room and make her promise she wouldn't leave, it was so bad."

Max was staring into her again, and Chase didn't know what to think of it.

"If _you_ didn't do it, then who else could it have been?" the brunette asked, cold and calculated.

There was that underlying premise, delivered in every other syllable that beckoned the blonde to consider her next choice of words. Glancing to the class, finding that no one was paying attention to either of them, she huffed, and locked her gaze to Max again, "I don't know. But if there's one thing I am sure of, it's that I didn't do it."

"Then prove it."

"Are you fucking—" Victoria silently blurted.

Crossing her arms, Max leaned back in her mighty pedestal, daring the Queen to try and justify herself. Caulfield's tone reflected her haughty demand.

"After class, you go with me and you apologize to her. If not for trashing her room, then for being an absolute bitch to her for no reason. It's the least you can do."

"I don't give her shit for no reason, Caulfield."

"Excuse me, Max, Victoria?"

The classroom dimmed in conversation, the duo simultaneously jerked at their names being called, feeling their cheeks flush with embarrassment as Jefferson and the rest of the class looked to them.

"You both seem to have something more important than whatever I could come up with, would you mind sharing it with the rest of us?" their idol barbed. He must've noticed their discussion.

They glanced to each other, then back to Jefferson.

"Sorry, Mr. Jefferson, but it's a bit personal. I hope you understand."

A raise of the eyebrows told them he didn't believe the excuse Victoria threw his way, but he conceded, "Alright, I understand. I'd appreciate it however, if you two could delegate your time to this assignment, as it's due in the next _twenty minutes_ ," he raised his voice to address everyone on the last bit, "if you do not finish this work in that time, I'm more than willing to stay after class and wait for you," he offered, knowing no one wanted to stay after class.

Like a cue, the rush of conversations drowned out whatever Jefferson had left to say, leaving Victoria and Max to rush their answers onto their papers post-haste. A single glance to each other spoke of meeting after class, there were too many eyes and ears for them to talk about this in the open.

* * *

"I thought you were out here when it happened?"

"I was in the main building, had a meeting with my advisor over post-grad opportunities."

"Huh."

The door to the second floor dorms clicked itself into place as the two girls walked down the hall. Their gait was rushed, footsteps thudded on the carpet floor as they pressed forward, past the small hallway leading to the bathroom, and stopping upon Max's dorm room. Victoria looked ready to enter and face the music, but Max hesitated with her hand on the door.

"Maxine? Come on, let's get this over with."

With steeled blue eyes, Max looked to Chase.

"Before we do this, I want a promise from you."

Victoria looked incredulous, "Oh _hell_ no, that's not how this works—"

"I don't want you getting all bitchy to her," Max interrupted, impeding the girl's next protest with a glare, "You promise me."

"I cannot control the flow of human emotions, Maxine."

"Don't call me Maxine, either. It's Max."

A sigh, then, "Look, I get that you, her, and I have been at odds, but maybe you should realize that I just don't care about her like _you_ do. I don't even know if me apologizing will make anything better—better yet, I didn't even fucking do anything to her—"

Max bristled, Victoria backtracked, "Fine, I did do some things, but I am _not_ apologizing for something I didn't do."

"She'll forgive you, even after all you've done," the brunette noted grimly, "I know it."

Emerald eyes narrowed at the remark, "And how is that supposed to assure me?"

"It's what anyone would want, forgiveness," Max looked to her door disconsolately, "We both know what you did was horrible, so yeah, I'm pretty sure you have a smidgen of guilt in there."

"I'm not a monster, Maxine," came the defensive reply.

"It's Max, never Maxine."

Foregoing the inevitable, Max twisted the knob and they walked in, and she looked to the frail blonde sitting crisscrossed on her couch, watching that gaze shift from hollow joy to worry as Kate eyed the both of them. Victoria immediately placed herself on the edge of Max's bed, right leg crossed over the other, ruffling up the sleeves of her black cashmere and idly commenting how cold it was in the room. Max situated herself on the couch next to Kate, giving a welcome smile and feeling warm about how Kate was doing better, if only slightly.

Now, the elephant in the room.

"So, uhm...Max?"

A clearing of the throat, "Yeah, um, Victoria's here with us because she wanted to say something to you—," Max looked to Victoria with as much seriousness she could muster and hoped to God that the girl would be nice for once, "—isn't that right, Victoria?"

Chase smiled, innocently, and Max suddenly felt a weight in her chest.

"You're right, Maxine."

It was wrong, that wasn't the right response and Chase knew it; and Max tried to cut her off, but Victoria was quicker—

"You think it's me that destroyed your room, don't you, Kate?"

" _Now hold on—!_ "

"Let her speak for herself, _Caulfield_ ," the Queen snapped. Driven by instinctual fear, Max instantly shut her mouth, cowed and ashamed.

Hazel eyes looked on in confusion, "I don't—that's not what I—"

"You think it was me." It wasn't a question, nor a statement. It was a demand.

A pause, then, very quietly, "…yes."

"Then, in that case, I'm not sorry for you."

_Oh for fuck's sake—_

In a second, Max was up and moving to the queen, ready to tear her from her impromptu throne.

"Are you _kidding_ me Vic—!"

" _Max_ , don't."

It was unexpected, the sudden change in pitch that was normally so quiet and kind, it was unusual when heard as a voice of iron. Max froze, and turned to see Kate, on the brink of tears, but now determined. A sigh, and a pointed glare to the Queen to quit her bullshit, before Max settled in her wooden desk chair, keeping an eye on the two blondes before her.

"My oh my, I'm actually quite surprised, Marsh," the Queen chuckled, amused.

"Why is that, Victoria?" Kate suspiciously asked.

"I was under the impression that Caulfield here was a sort of lapdog for you: you know, all trying to keep you safe and whatnot," she barbed, smirking.

The lapdog growled. Victoria half-heartedly raised her hands in a mock surrender.

"I'm just saying, it seems like she's trying to keep you all safe and sound, almost like you asked her to be your personal bodyguard," a chuckle, airy and sarcastic, filled the room with its bittersweet tune.

Kate didn't waver, but her eyes remained glassy, they trembled in tangent with her heart as she steadied herself.

"Then you weren't the one who destroyed my room."

"Wow, thanks for noticing. I was starting to wonder if _someone_ would realize I'm not that heartless."

Max scowled, grumbling to herself but still eyeing Chase like an intruder that shouldn't've been invited.

_This was a mistake._

"It still doesn't excuse you from what you've done to me, to _us_."

Yet Envy sat on her throne, with her half lidded eyes, then tilting her head back ever so slightly and speaking to the peasants before her, "You know what, Kate? You're right, I should apologize."

Neither Kate nor Max were expecting such, if their blank stares were anything to go by.

"I'll apologize to you, right now. But on one condition."

Victoria glanced sidelong to Max, and not taking her eyes away from Caulfield, spoke with finality, "If you can make me say it without your lapdog breathing down my neck, then I'll do it."

"Why would—? She deserves an apology just as much as I do," Kait muttered, confused.

"I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't hear you over there."

A slight frown, then, louder this time, "I said, Max deserves an apology from you too—"

"Look, can you please _speak up_?" Chase talked over her, "God, as if you could make your voice any quieter."

" _Victoria_ , quit messing around with her!" Max stood from her chair, stopping her advance when Victoria also rose, using her slightly taller figure as a deterrence.

"It's not my fault she's a fucking pushover, _Maxine_."

"It's not her fault you're a fucking bitch, but _lo and behold!_ You still treat her like shit for no reason!"

"I treat her like shit because I know she's a fucking coward and won't defend herself. You think I'm supposed to respect someone who hides behind others to soften the pain of being called out on their bullshit!? Christ, I mean _look_ at her!" Victoria aimed her extended arm towards the other blonde, who had locked her gaze to the floor and sat hunched, having gone silent, "it's so fucking pathetic, having to see that every day. It's almost hilarious—all this time you try to comfort her and tell her it's gonna be okay, but you never think to toughen her up, _never_ once have you thought to prepare her for the real world."

Victoria made to stride towards Kate, and Max tried to block her path, but was stopped once again; this time, it was by the extended hand. Kate held her hand there as she also stood, all five-foot-five of her, and beckoned to the cold-hearted Queen.

"Victoria, stop."

" _Make me_ , Marsh."

Victoria now towered over Kate as she loomed closer, and Max's eyes widened as the pixie blonde leered at her timid counterpart, daring her to try, "Go on, look me in the eyes and _say_ it."

Kate looked, but no words came out. Hot, bitter tears spilled from hazel orbs and trailed down flustered cheeks. Max held her breath as the tension was wound tight, so suffocating in the small dorm room.

Kate suddenly faltered, ducking her head and wiping away the tears with an idle right hand. Victoria sighed and took a step back, letting Max reach her friend's side and taking her free left hand in a show of support. Quiet sobs reigned in the ensuing silence.

"I hope you understand now, why I'm being this way."

Max glared at the taller blonde, wanting her to just shut the hell up and leave them be. Victoria continued unabated, "I live by the rule that to gain respect, one must earn it, not force it, not expect it. Whatever respect you want from me, I won't give until you show me you deserve it."

"I am not your friend, Kate. I am not someone who cares for you like Max does. I choose to be hard on you because I hoped that maybe, just maybe, you'd stop taking the hits and stand up for yourself. You can't hide behind your friends and use them as shields to avoid your shortcomings—"

" _That wasn't me_ ," both Max and Victoria looked to Marsh and her terribly raw tone.

"What?"

"At the party. That wasn't me. I couldn't possibly get that drunk off of a single sip of wine, I have a tolerance to it from having some at church every once in a while, it just can't be right—" with eyes red from crying, Kate looked to Victoria, pleading, "how is it my fault then, that I ended up doing all those things? You say it's my fault, like I _wanted_ to do those things, but I didn't."

Victoria had nothing for that.

"I just wanted to know, what it was like to be like everyone else. I'm sick of being seen as something I'm not, I'm not a snitch, I'm not a prude; but when I try to fit in, they still ridicule me for it! It doesn't matter what I do, they hate me anyways. _You_ hate me anyways."

"I am not calling you a prude nor a snitch, Marsh," Victoria coldly bit, "I am calling you a coward. A horrible, no-good, _spineless_ coward, who refuses to stand up for themselves."

"I'd rather be a coward than be on your level," Kate heatedly bit back, "if it means that I don't have to treat others badly to make myself feel better!"

Yet the Queen Bee remained stone-faced, unfazed to the insult, "You think I do this for my own ego? You think I do these things so when someone is crushed by the outside world, I can just shrug and say, _I told them so?_ You really think that's true."

" _That_ isn't true—!"

"Then what _is_ the truth, Marsh?" Chase interrupted, "You and I both know what will happen when we all graduate. We go off, to live our lives, our dreams. We carry on with friends and family by our side, all happy and blissfully _unaware_. But what happens when one of us falls apart? Is ripped from our comforts, from our little shell, and is thrown into the savage world beyond what we know?"

Victoria edges closer to Kate, looking down at the trembling girl, "Do you really think love will save us from the outside world, Marsh?"

Max looked on, unable to barge into the conversation. For those emerald green eyes, sharp, jagged with contempt, they pierced through their soft, bloodshot hazel counterparts like a hot knife to butter.

"Do you think love will save _you_ from the outside world?"

A raspy inhale, then, "I don't want to be saved. I want to be left alone. I want you to leave me, and Max, and everyone else alone."

Silence.

The world came to a standstill as the two blondes stood opposite each other.

"Fine," Victoria spoke with finality, "If that is what you want, then I will stop."

She abruptly turned, striding gracefully to the door, her mission accomplished.

"Wait."

The Queen had the door open and stood at the threshold when she stopped and turned.

"Is that it? Are you seriously going to leave us be?" Kate rasped, befuddled.

"I've done what I could, all you'd offer me now is your forgiveness."

"Why would I offer you forgiveness for dragging me through this hell for so long?" Kate cried, struck by aggravation, "why would anything that you've done help me?"

A pause. Then, with assuredness, as if it was set in stone.

"One day, someone will come and bring ruin to your life, Kate," and the shadows of the blinds dimmed the glow of those terrifying emerald daggers, "and whoever they are, they will be less merciful than me. So, it shall be; if not me, then who, and if not now, then when?"

The door closed with a final _click_ , leaving the two girls still inside to stew in their dread.

* * *

A/N - It is here that I divert from what we know to be canon, and bring forth the ideals of the semi-antagonist, the devil's advocate, the Queen Bee. Victoria, both in-game and in many a fic, is pictured as heartless and cruel, to the extent that her reputation is near synonymous to Nathan's. Yet, and I stress this point as the crux of my opinion as the writer: there _cannot_ exist a belief _entirely_ divorced from the objective truth of reality; for indeed, while we as humans may cling to our own subjective truths, there also lives the objective truth of the natural world; a truth that is cruel and uncaring to the whims of its subjects, and demands the weak and cowardly be pushed to the edges of extinction, to make way for the strong and the courageously fit.

I refer to the beliefs of Dr. William Luther Pierce, on Man and his endeavor with Nature: "I believe in the real world, the unforgiving world of Nature, in which we evolved through hard and bloody struggle over millions of years. Perhaps it is not a nice world, but it still can be a beautiful world if one looks at it with the right attitude." It is by this belief that strong-willed characters like Victoria abide by; from her inception to the present moment, she has experienced this mentality of perseverance through struggle, and only struggle, through either a projection of her strengths, or a genuine sense of strength/confidence. It is because of this solid foundation of belief, that Victoria comes most into conflict with her antithesis: Kate.

Kate, from Victoria's first impression, is a tolerant Christian, forgiving and kind. She believes Marsh exists in a world of herself, where there is no strife, no pain, no _struggle_. Kate, from Victoria's understanding, has not the slightest clue of what it means to _struggle_ , to be able to contend for her rightful, just-deserved position in the merciless world they've lived in; for Victoria thinks all of Kate's time alive on this world was spent in ignorance of the objective reality she herself has experienced since birth. This envy makes Victoria see only how Kate is propped up and constantly supported by her friends, and perceives that as a deadly weakness, concluding that Marsh cannot take care of herself when alone and unaided. It matters not that Kate is a devout Christian, nor does it matter what Kate thinks of her and of those like her; to Victoria, the most telling thing about Kate is her abhorrence to the virtue of intolerance, wherein those who are wicked and twisted enough to destroy Kate completely may use her tolerance against her.

One can argue that it is right of Victoria then, to be harsh to Kate, to subject her to hardships in an effort to pull the supposedly ignorant girl from her shell and wake her up to the cruel truth of reality; for if Victoria _did_ truly despise Kate, then she would instead leave the Christian be, and watch as Nature crushes Marsh for being ultimately weak and unfit to survive the evils it had prepared against her. On the other hand, it can be argued that Victoria herself is the vehicle of evil, driven by her envy for a more blissful life, that which Kate must choose to ignore and be doomed to suffer from, or to indeed adopt the ideal of intolerance towards evil, and not only stand up against Victoria, but also anyone or anything that comes after, that which threatens all that Kate cares for. It is further necessary to point out that much of Victoria's grievances with Kate come from what Chase _thinks_ Marsh is, and not what the Christian truly is. This is why Chase finally relents, for it is only then does she see Kate as what she is, and not what she _was_.


	7. With Pen and Bleeding Ink

"Far better is it to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs, even though checkered by failure, than to take rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in that grey twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat." - Theodore "Teddy" Roosevelt

* * *

It really soured her mood, seeing what had happened on this Wednesday morning. Not only was she stressed about that editorial that looked more and more like it wasn't going to be finished by its deadline, she also had to worry about who was terrorizing her friend, Marsh. Although, if she really thought about it, she only had two reasonable candidates.

Juliet Watson looked to her silver Dell computer, its screen glowing white from a Word document on its display. She'd gone through about half a page of what she knew was credible, but after that she only had rumors and speculation, and with stories like this, word of mouth either made or broke one's work.

It didn't _have_ to be some extended piece about what was going on per se, but she wanted it to be. If not out of personal pride for creating an article worth its weight, then to spite the poor bastard that'll be on the receiving end of it, once it's published and made its rounds through the student populous.

Actually, scratch the word _poor_ from that description: Prescott doesn't do poor, the rat-tyrant's greed for money and power was too stark to consider him like so. Juliet snickers to herself at the thought of the Prescott heir in the theme of the stereotypical burdened rich kid, one with a dead parental figure and a bitter hatred for everyone and everything. How comical it would be, to think if he'd fit that description, then. All he has to do for life to bend the knee in his favor, is wave his stacks of money around, a simple fanfare unavailable for people like her.

They're left to struggle for their achievements. Alone, with no help.

Okay, that isn't really true. Juliet eyed the photo sitting to the right of her computer, framed in a warm mahogany border and encompassing a group picture of four girls, herself included. A smile made its way to her lips, for while she may not have thought much of having that photo taken in that moment, looking back on it now brought the nostalgia of simpler times.

From right to left, with her holding the camera up with a smirk on her face, Juliet looked upon the sophomore version of herself, wearing the double-layered leather jacket that she treasured the most of all her wardrobe, standing beside her bestie of four years and still strong, Dana Ward. Never once had Dana passed up an opportunity to smile for the camera, it was simply the way she was. Not only that, she was Juliet's first friend when they started Blackwell in 2009, and Watson was glad to have someone to be there for her who wasn't her immediate family. Plus, Dana was tall, tall enough to reach in the back of the shelves where the school's News club kept the spare printing paper that was _always_ out of Juliet's reach.

Next to Dana was a slightly smaller girl, with jet black hair and black rimmed glasses, framing bored eyes that were squinted from the flash of the camera. Juliet smirked, she had first met the girl during freshman year, as she was a third generation immigrant from the Philippines that got a ride into Blackwell from a scholarship of some sort. Her name was Brooke Scott, although Juliet reminds herself that the spectacled girl doesn't like how similar her last name was to the resident prince in the academy, and almost always goes by 'Brooke'. Juliet appreciated Brooke in one quality: the Asian girl was blunt, almost excessively so. There was never any bullshit to be given by Brooke, and it made their interactions short but meaningful. Watson only wished that Scott would find where her sense of humor was, she could be so apathetic, so stubbornly cynical at times.

Last was the smallest of the quartet, though not by much. Her navy-blue hoodie contrasted to her ebony skin and was topped with a toothy smile and a one-handed peace sign. Stella Hill, also enrolled in Blackwell from a scholarship, and hailing from a half African-American and half German ancestry. Juliet was reminded of Stella's knack to be the impromptu comedian, though the reporter often wondered how the girl coped with the workload that she seemed to brush off whenever they hung out. The girl had so much free time, yet for Juliet it seemed like she was near the brink of lagging behind her work, and she wondered so fervently how Stella made it seem so easy. Stella could best be described as a chatterbox, and while it was nice to hang out with the ebony brunette, to sit through a thirty-minute conversation of nothing but how a hotdog could be technically classified as a sandwich was not something Juliet wanted to do often.

So sure, Juliet wasn't alone, necessarily, but goddamn did it feel like it. She looked to the draft still opened and went over for the third time what she had. Her focal point was that Nathan Prescott was becoming too lenient with the kinds of "entertainment" that he brought with his parties. So much so, that on the fourth of October, last Friday, a show of drama erupted after the only prominent Christian on campus, Kate Marsh, was seen acting high out of her mind and—Juliet frowned at the words but knew them to be the cold truth—the girl was seen kissing multiple party-goers. This claim was further backed up by the video that was uploaded on YouTube sometime after the party, and having to watch the entire thing made Juliet sick to her stomach. Almost everyone rumored that the devout believer was actually a freak, the antithesis of the "façade" she put on to fool the populace. A lot of them just didn't care, but went with it anyways, any mockery not placed on them was welcomed mockery indeed. Juliet's blood boiled at the thought.

_Fuckin' cowards._

Juliet had first met Kate in person, attending one of those abstinence meetings the blonde hosted for some time before she stopped them altogether. It was for a selfish reason, to be truthful. She had wanted to know if Kate had any juicy details on some then-current spew between two other dorm members, but it ended up with Juliet being invited over for tea. From there, a friendship was born, despite how inconvenient it was since they shared no classes together. Juliet supposed it be the kind of kinship that was similar to sisterhood, in that Kate cared about Watson enough to go out of her way whenever she needed help, and in return, Juliet was there for the blonde whenever she could be. This feeling is what sparked her encouragement to the timid blonde when she first saw her at that party. If only her and Dana knew what would happen, they would've never coaxed Kate into that situation.

Thus when Juliet woke up this morning to see Kate's dorm room ransacked and the girl in question being tended to by some brunette on their dorm floor— _went by the name Max, or something_ —Watson felt a kind of low she'd never experienced before. It festered in her heart and compelled her to action, for who was she if not Kate's friend? She'd be no better than those heartless bastards and bitches who did nothing but squabble over drama like pigeons to breadcrumbs.

A sigh, a hand brushing the loose bangs of hair off her forehead and with a creak of the wooden chair Juliet leaned back in her posture. This was gonna be tedious as all hell.

A knock sounded, and Juliet looked to the door, she'd been expecting this since midday.

"Come on in, Dana."

The door swung open and Dana entered, swiftly closing the door and locking it. The tall auburnette made her way over to the reporter's desk, taking the spare foldable chair and setting it up in one swift motion, plopping herself onto it and sporting the brightest grin. It was infectious, and Juliet took comfort in the good news that was sure to be relayed.

"I finally got the drive, Brooke managed to get Warren to pass it on before they took him to the infirmary," she pulled the little device from her pocket, "She was real upset that he got hurt and all, poor guy had a black eye from what she told me."

"Poor bastard," Juliet thumbed the drive into the USB slot, and waited for the computer to bring up the notification.

"He's gonna be fine though, I heard they gave him two weeks detention for the fight—"

"Two weeks? He ain't poor now, he's lucky!"

"I know, right? Brooke didn't like it though, she spends lunch hour with him and now she's got nothing to swoon over."

A snort erupted from the bronze-brunette, as she steadied herself and tried to copy the files onto the flash drive to her personal hard drive while containing her laughter.

"Damn, not even gonna hold back on that, aren't you?" Watson cackled.

"Yeah, I know, but you've seen the way she looks at him. I mean, like, come on, I almost wanna dare her to ask him out."

"You think she would?" The files were all copied to the thumb drive, Juliet properly ejected it from her laptop and set the piece aside.

"I don't know. You know how she gets really nervous, whenever we make her try something out of the blue? She'd probably faint if we dared her to do it."

"Heh, yeah, she 'prolly would."

A pause, as the two think of a flustered Brooke trying to ask her long-known crush out on a date for the first time. For all her cunning in machinery and engineering, Brooke was pretty lacking in the romance department.

"'Ey, you okay?"

It was a bit softer tone than Dana normally used, and Juliet knew from experience that Dana didn't appreciate liars in the slightest.

"Just, stressed."

"…you mean about this morning?"

"Yeah," Juliet whispered.

A sympathetic nod, before Ward scooted her chair as close to her friend as she could and wrapped an arm around Watson's shoulders.

"Wanna talk about it?"

A frown, not directed at Dana but rather the present situation, crossed Juliet's face.

"It just…I feel like I'm not doing enough."

Dana pulled her close, silently protesting.

"I know that she's got other people to keep an eye on her, but I just can't help but feel like I should be there for her too. I mean, I just—" with a frustrated groan, Juliet shrugged her taller friend off her, her breathing grew huffy as anger stewed, "It's fucking bullshit, the way everyone treats her. If Kate was a stuck up bitch and tried forcing her beliefs on others I would understand, but she _doesn't_. She doesn't deserve all this shit, and she's _my_ _friend_. I couldn't give less a damn about the Internationale anymore, but the way Nathan and Bitchtoria have been bullying Kate recently?"

She looks Dana in the eye, "No, that's where I draw the line."

"You sure it was them?" It came off as curious rather than worrying.

"It has to be, no one else either cares enough or has the ability to get away with it. Besides," Juliet opens up File Explorer, and clicks the folder that was copied to the thumb drive. Her screen displays the content, including a multitude of pictures. Most are of the inside of a desk drawer, full of unopened prescription bottles, chock full of pills. The detailed information of the bottle as well as its recipient show that it was for Prescott himself, however it became obvious that he shouldn't have as many bottles as the picture showed. Moreover, there were a few pictures of what looked to be an outdated flip phone in a plastic bag. To anyone who understood the essence of what crime movies tried to visualize, it would seem like the only reason Nathan would have such a phone was if it served as a burner phone, meant to be used whenever he was up to something not so legal.

"You tell Justin and Trevor that I'm buying the next time we all go out together, seriously."

A chuckle, "I'm sure they'd appreciate the praise from you, sassy-ass."

"We've been over this, D. I got the sass, you got the ass."

" _Damn straight_ ," Dana smiles proudly.

"Seriously though," a finger points to the photos of the pill bottles. "With something like this, it's gonna get the attention of everyone, 'specially Principal Wells. We'll ask for an appointment today, he's bound to be stuck in his office, doing whatever the principal does. Who knows, maybe he'll get that paranoid head of security, Madsen, to throw Prescott out of Blackwell for good, I don't know. The point is, we got to shed the light on this, and once we do, that rat bastard will have nowhere left to hide."

Dana smiled, a bright, toothy smile, "I'll let the others know, then."

* * *

In the quiet abode of Room _217_ , only the faint sounds of scribbles could be heard. The afternoon light shone through the open blinds, and made the normally dim color of her navy blue hoodie glow brightly. A _buzz-buzz_ came from her iPhone, and a free hand reached out to see who messaged her.

Stella paused, reading the message, then reading it again, and with anticipation she smiled. It seems that Miss Sherlock needs their help, and she was just tuckered out from doing math homework for three hours straight. Bouncing out of her seat, she slipped on her worn pair of sneakers and strode out of her room, lightly jogging down the hallway and stopping at the door at the far end. She gave a courtesy knock, and stood patiently.

"Brooke?"

Stella was greeted with silence still. Another knock on the door.

"Brooke~?"

She tested the door handle, and found it to be unlocked. She eased it just past the threshold, calling out softly again, "Brooke, you up?"

The room was still dark as night, and the light was mostly shielded from the shut blinds on the opposite wall. From the dim, Stella could see that her best friend had been up all night, for the abomination of metal parts and trinkets and tools upon the girl's desk were scattered all over the counterspace, some lay on the floor, either put there or from falling off. At the lack of cleanliness, Stella frowned, concerned.

 _She's been at it again._ _Gotta do what you gotta do, I suppose. Still, I should try to help her get back on a normal sleep schedule._

She looked to the mass of blankets on the bed, which was perched to the right of the door and shoved into the opposite corner of the desk. Stella waited all of the one second before she cupped her hands to her mouth, calling at the top of her lungs.

" _Wake yo' ass up, B!_ Holmes has a mission for us, we gotta get moving!"

From that dimness and cluttered space, a mass flailed from underneath the blankets on the bed, rolling off and landing with a _thump_ on the thin, hard carpet floor. Yet already had Stella made her way into the room, crossing the clutter with practiced ease and pulling at the blinds, flicking them open.

" _I'm up_ , I'm up, fuck!" from the shroud of the covers, squinted, tired eyes looked to Stella, and with a pinched brow and a mean looking case of bed-head, Brooke reached for her glasses on the nightstand, "Fuckin' give me another second next time, goddamn."

A hearty laugh, "Consider this as me keeping your sleep cycle in check, I know how you are with your beauty sleep, especially once you start getting all caught up on your works," Stella jested, and the annoyed glare the Filipina sent her way was met with an equally cheeky grin, "come on, you can cuss me out all you want later, we gotta go help Jules. Hurry up now, I'm gonna go get Alyssa to join us—"

" _Putik na buhay naman ito_ ," Brooke muttered, shuffling to her feet as Stella swiftly departed, crossing to a perpendicular hallway where the rest of the second floor dorms resided. Of the three doors down this smaller hallway, Stella trotted up to the middle one, and rapped upon the wooden surface, waiting patiently for some time, then knocking again.

"Alyssa?"

A third time, before Stella dared to ease the door open, and peek inside, "Alyssa, you there?"

Being on the far side of where the sun sets, Alyssa's room was now lit only by what sunlight could reach from the blinds and the hallway. In the middle of said room, sitting on a small square ottoman, was a girl with waist length, violet-blackish hair at work with pumping a fifteen pound iron dumbbell, and Stella could now hear the music silently blaring from headphones that the girl—Alyssa—wore. The movement of the door caught the toned-girl's attention, and she set the dumbbell down, pulling her headset away, "Stella? What's wrong?"

"You know how I said you'd meet up with the rest of my friends besides Brooke? Well, today's the day, so I hope you're ready," Stella declared, and with a glance back down the hall she witnessed Brooke trudge out of her room, still half-asleep, "I don't mean to rush you, but the whole gang's gonna be there, and I wouldn't want you to miss this."

For all her toned arms and sharp, intimidating brow, Alyssa's wide blue eyes looked nervous then, "I uh, yeah, sure. Just, uhm—I need to take a shower first, so if you don't mind—"

"I gotchu; see you there!" the ebony brunette chirped, and closed Anderson's door. With a happy-go-lucky grin, she skipped for Juliet's dorm room, catching up to the slow-going Brooke along the way and tugging the sleepy girl forward, earning her a salty mouthful from her best friend.

* * *

A/N - Putik na buhay naman ito - _Filipino Tagalog_ , "What a rotten/muddy life"


	8. Francis

"Away to thee, hideous blasphemy; Come not to me, proud and unabashedly,

Not a want or desire; In form as pale as yours,

Plots you do conspire; my heart ignores.

Seek not here, that of thine want; Find you fear, in me you cannot." - Luke Schmidt, _Guilt_

* * *

This time, it was silence that embraced them. They had migrated to the bed, and laid down so that both of their legs dangled off the bedside, with the slight hum of the air conditioning unit and the faint chirping of birds outside being their only source of ambience.

They stared blank-faced at the ceiling, lost to their thoughts. Their altercation with Victoria had left them feeling unsure of themselves.

It had taken a bit of their esteem, and a lot of their happiness, but they've done it: the Queen would lay off on making their lives hell, for now. Yet, they held no hope on it being a permanent truce. Someone would need their pound of flesh, and if it wasn't another poor soul within reach, then they'd be back into the breach once more.

So now they lay upon the comforters and blankets of Max's bed, gazing at the white textured ceiling above them and just existing, for this was all they needed to do now. Nothing mattered to them in this moment, just the feeling of being free from social torment, the weight of the cruel world shrugged off weary shoulders for the time being.

That is, until Max's phone buzzed from within the confines of her messenger bag, forgotten up until now.

"Hm—?"

"Ah, that's me," Max reached over past the mattress and dug into her bag, pulling out her phone and reading the message.

"Huh," the brunette deadpanned.

"What is it Max?" inquired Kate, giving her a curious glance.

_Cap'n Chlo: ey maximus u wanna go to 2 whales? fuckin hungry 4 some bacon_

"Chloe just asked me if I wanted to go to Two Whales with her."

"Chloe? Who's Chloe?" Kate sat up straight, and turned to Max.

"Uhm, well, do you know Chloe Price?"

"She sounds familiar…wait, wasn't she the one that got expelled for graffitiing the girl's bathroom some two years ago?"

"Yeah, that's probably her."

"Oh," the blonde muttered, concerned.

A nervous chuckle, "Don't worry Kate, I've been friends with her for a lot longer than before she went to Blackwell. She's actually really nice to be around."

"Is she a best friend of yours? As in, from childhood?"

"Yeah, we go way back to elementary," Max felt a smile spread, thinking back on memories from before the turn of the decade, before the Riots, "We'd go to her house a lot and dress up as pirates. Her and I always wanted to be pirates when we were kids, always finding a new adventure to seek and whatnot."

Kate looked to her with a sad fascination in her eyes, and Max realized a little too late that the timid blonde didn't have any close friends when she was a teenager.

Perhaps, there was a chance to remedy such a lack of friendship, as the brunette looked pensively to her phone.

"Hey, Kate."

"Yes?"

"How about we both go to the Two Whales, I don't know about you but I'm getting kinda hungry."

A happy gleam shined from the blonde as she beamed a smile, "I'd love to, Max."

"Right, then let's go, we'll meet Chloe there."

_Max: sure thing Chloe, i'll be there with a friend_

"You got your stuff?"

Kate had gotten off the bed, having put on her tennis-shoes and slung her small leather purse over her shoulder, looking excited for the first time in a long while.

"I'm all set, Max," said the blonde with a smile.

"Alrighty then, let's go."

* * *

Pushing the diner's door open, Max was welcomed with the warm smell of freshly cooked bacon and pancake batter, the clanging of dishware upon porcelain along with the serenading vocals from the jukebox in the far side of the restaurant brought a sense of nostalgia unlike anything before. She supposed that Seattle had wringed her of all the happiness she'd felt when she was here in Arkadia, or maybe she'd been homesick for this place and didn't know it until now.

It was good to be back.

They took a booth off to the side, second from the right end, taking a seat and going over the menu perched in a tabletop holder. A quiet waitress came by almost immediately, handing them each a starting glass of water. She informed them another waitress would be taking their orders, and they thanked her as she moved on.

"Have you ever been here before, Max?"

"Oh, many times, _so_ many times. It's been so long since, though," and hungry blue eyes locked to the Two Whales's signature breakfast dish with delight, "God, those pancakes look so good right now. Or better yet, maybe the bacon omelet with some fries."

"Pancakes? _ew…_ " and Max gasped, looking so comically betrayed as Kate glanced up again, and hastily did the blonde defend herself, "What? The Belgian waffles they have are truly better."

"Oh, you did _not_ just say that," Max jabbed lightheartedly, smirking, "If there's one thing I remember about this place, it's that everybody goes here knowing one thing, and one thing only: they're about to stuff themselves with a fat stack of those fluffy, golden-hued, soft-as-the-heavens pancakes."

"Well pardon me then, I'm not one to choose the food of the _commoner_ ," Kate jested back, bringing out a posh English accent and taking a sip of her lavish glass cup of water, a pinky extended out for good measure. She nearly lost herself in the act when Max started giggling.

That is, until a voice, thick with its Southern drawl, interrupted them.

"Alright, ladies, Welcome to the Two Whales, what can I get y'all—" and Max looked at the same time that the waitress noticed her, wide-eyed, and broke out in a smile.

"Joyce!"

"Well I'll be, Max? I haven't seen you in a long while," the woman smiled.

Very clumsily, Max rose from the booth and gave Joyce Madsen a tight hug and realized now why she missed the Two Whales so much.

"It's so good to see you, Joyce!"

"Same to you, hon'. Lord knows how long it's been since I've seen you last."

The brunette slid back into the booth, "So Max, what brings you here with a friend?"

"We're going to meet up with Chloe. She wanted to hang out with us, and I wanted to introduce her to Kate here," the blonde in question whispered a greeting and a slight wave of the hand, "I just hope she shows up soon, y'know?"

For the slightest second, Joyce looked stunned by what Max had said, and as the woman spoke Max wondered what was so surprising of their get-together.

"Oh, I know, Max. Chloe sure knows how to be punctually late, but bless her, she tries at least."

Max sat back and relished the feeling of warmth from the indoor heater that swelled from within her hoodie as Joyce requested their orders. Kate asks for the Belgian waffles with some honey on the side, and Max orders the bacon omelet along with a cup of coffee, black, no sugar. Joyce then skirts her way off to the kitchen in the back, her Southern drawl coming alive to whip the cooks into a frenzy over another order.

"Is that Chloe's mother, Max?"

Max replied to Kate's inquisitive look, "Yeah, Joyce is Chloe's mom. I used to see her whenever Chloe and I went to the diner when we were young." A smile, another memory surfaced in her mind, "I'm sure Chloe's dad, William—he probably paid for us, but we thought for the longest time that we got free food here because we were the only pirates in town. I'm sure him and Joyce just wanted us to have fun."

"That sounds like a wondrous adventure, her dad must be fun to be around," Kate says with a smile.

No more smiles for Caulfield.

"Uhm, yeah."

"…Max?" another question, but this time not spoken.

"It's, uh—well, William is…not here, anymore."

The slight widening of hazel eyes tipped Max that Kate got the point.

"I'm sorry, Max."

"It's fine," Max softly dissuaded, "We just got to move on."

The chime of a bell rung as the diner's front door was swung open, and Chloe made herself known, saying greetings to two unknown lads in a booth on the far side of the diner before bee-lining it to their booth. With a smirk and a nod of the head, she smoothly slid her way next to Max's side, ending up too close and near squishing the brunette in the process, making Max yelp in surprise as they collapsed into a fit of cackles together. Kate watched with curious fascination as the two across from her playfully bickered like sisters, they playfully nudged each other with a slight shove and oriented themselves out of their cackling.

Kate raised an eyebrow, confused at the amount of synergy the two had.

"Wus' poppin', Max, sorry for being late—" Chloe's eyes darted to the petite blonde across from her, eyeing the ball of hair atop Marsh's head, "whoa, now _that,_ is a bun."

"I'm doing alright, Chlo. Oh, and this is Kate, she's my friend from Blackwell."

"Hello, Chloe."

"'Sup."

Perhaps it be the way the punk now acts around strangers, but Max couldn't help but notice Chloe now eye the cross upon Kate's button-up shirt, the bluenette laxing into her spot with a calm façade. The mousy brunette felt a tang of worry about her oversight, realizing that Chloe didn't have the most favorable views of faith or followers of such. Caulfield's worries were stifled however, as Joyce made her way over to them from behind the counter, hands carrying the dishes and drinks like it was the easiest thing in the world. The woman served the plates with ease, the steaming omelets and waffles resting in front of their persons with the utmost accuracy.

_Never gets old._

"Chloe, sweetie, it's good to finally see you around," Joyce said with a smile, laying on the sarcastic motherly chiding as thick as she could.

The bluenette almost scoffed from embarrassment, replying with a curt, _'Hi, Joyce,'_ before slouching away and closer into Max.

"Oh don't be like that, dear. I'm glad you're here, and with some of your friends too," Max and Kate smiled at that, while poor Chloe seemed ready to squirm into the red upholstery, a scene that Max coaxed her out of with a playful, gentle shove, "I take it you want the usual, dear?"

"Yeah, thanks Mom."

"Now Max, before I leave you to it, I'd like to ask you to come by sometime, I'd love to have y'all for dinner—you too, Kate, don't think I'd leave you out of this," Joyce teased the blonde, causing her to warmly blush at the sudden attention.

"Of course Joyce, we'd love to," replied Max, looping an arm around the uncomfortable punk next to her, easing her of the social turbulence of having a mother near her impressionable friends. Bidding them a final _'See y'all soon,'_ Joyce whisked herself to a nearby trucker at the bar section, gruffly complaining about another refill.

"I don't know about you, Chloe, but I can't turn down an offer like that from Joyce."

Chloe smirks widely, "Is that so? I feel like that's that's the food talking. Speaking of which—" and Chloe yoinks the bacon off of Max's plate, the gaping brunette can only watch in muted agony as her precious slice of bacon was viciously eaten like a spaghetti noodle. Chloe took her time in savoring the cooked meat before audibly swallowing, presenting her trademark shit-eating grin to a pouting Caulfield.

As if Kate had any reason to doubt the two's ability to read each other, Chloe suddenly jerked her arm up, receiving the half-assed punch the brunette administered with little effect. Chloe was full of hubris as she laughed at Max, who was beckoning the punk that she owed her a bacon slice with a hollow sternness, and Kate felt a tinge lonesome, knowing that she had never felt the kind of trust the two across from her shared. Whispering a silent thanks to the Lord for the food and friends, she dug into a piece of her honey-syrup Belgian waffles, chewing twice before being blindsided by Chloe's brash voice—

"'Ey, Kate, I hope you don't mind me asking, but, why do you got your hair up like that?" Chloe gestures very prominently to a figurative sphere above her beanie, and Max quietly chides her that the bun is not _that_ big. Kate smiles.

"I don't know, I just found it to be…unique, I guess. You don't see anyone wearing a bun like this around here in Arkadia. I'd like people to know who I am whenever they see me." Kate had meant to be cheery, but the words caught up to her mind and she visibly slumped, "at least, uhm, y'know, without any malevolence."

Chloe raised a curious eyebrow and looked to Max for some explanation. The brunette in turn looked to Kate, who eventually glanced up and nodded in the slightest.

"Kate was…she was drugged at a party last Friday and was seen doing things she wouldn't have done if she was sober," Max frowned, not liking the way she described it, "We talked about it and we think it was Nathan Prescott who did it. He and Victoria Chase were at the party, and they're the ones who've been giving her a hard time."

Chloe looked unsurprised, but her agitation was clear, "They're pulling the same shit like what they did with Rachel? That's fucked."

"Yeah, exactly. It's partially why I brought her here to meet you. I figured, if we're gonna get to the bottom of Nathan's schemes and find out where Rachel is, we do it together."

Joyce came by one last time, easing onto the table a steaming plate of bacon slices with a side of chili fries, that which was coated in melted cheddar cheese. Chloe took on the act of an embarrassed daughter for all the ten seconds after her mother glided back to the kitchen, before she ravaged those damn-good fries with terrible prejudice, eliciting a snort from Max and a worried glance from the Christian.

Cleaning her hands with a spare napkin, Chloe smirked, and felt something that'd been pressing her mind since she first arrived burst forth, "I got an idea on how we start this—" she fished out her worn, azure hued switch phone, and fiddled with something before showing it to Max. She looked to see a very curt, very _colorful_ text conversation between Chloe and some person by the name of ' _Frank_ ', talking about a meet-up for today.

"Chloe, who's ' _Frank_ '?"

"A guy by the name of Frank Bowers. Like to call him ' _Bean Boy Bowers_ ' sometimes to piss 'im off," and Chloe smiled at the apparent memory of creating such a weird nickname for the man, "he's the only drug dealer in Arkadia."

Kate, who had been chewing on a large piece of a waffle to keep from speaking, immediately stopped chewing, and looked wide-eyed at the punk with squirrel cheeks. Max wasn't faring any better, looking visibly worried over how her best friend was describing the only drug dealer in town like a close friend.

"Anyway, so I got him to agree to a meet-up today, and I was getting worried that I'd have to make him wait for me after this, but—" and Chloe looked sympathetically at the blonde across from her, "seeing as Prickskott and Bitchtoria are fucking with a friend of mine, I figure he could help us out a bit."

Even with a mouthful of waffles, Kate clumsily smiled, the grateful gesture made Chloe sport a grin of her own.

"Well, shoot, that's great," said Max, poking a piece of an omelet and waving it in the air as she thought out her words, "maybe he's got some kind of record of his deals or something, you'd think he do something like that, right Chlo?"

"Yeah, probably. If anyone would do it, Frank would. He's paranoid like that."

"Then it's settled, we'll go meet him after this."

"Sure, sure. So, should I drop Kate off back at Blackhell, or—?"

"I'm going."

The casual smile on the bluenette's face was wiped away as she looked to Kate. The blonde reminded her now of a cute, fluffy bunny trying to look intimidating, and horribly failing in its attempt.

"Yeah, sure," Chloe remarked sarcastically, "Look, I know you wanna take down Prescott as much as the next person, but this shit Max and I are doin'?" as Chloe leans forward on the table, Kate slightly reclines back, "Shit's dangerous."

A hand gently clasps Price's left shoulder, and the punk's met with Max's look of subtle disagreement, "Chloe, stop, let her be. She's got as much at stake in this as we do."

Chloe darted her eyes to and fro, settling on Kate one last time before she sighed.

"A'ight then, but first, we need some form of oath."

"Hold up, what?" blurted Max, Kate raised a nervous eyebrow as Chloe heartily grinned towards the brunette beside her, "What do you think Max? If she's joining us, we need a proper initiation into the Pirates of Arkadia."

" _Ohhh_ ," and genuine confusion marred Kate's face as Max suddenly smiled something fierce, rising in a crescendo of chuckles as Chloe joined her.

* * *

The rusted truck trudged into the confines of the chain-link fence, rumbling forward into the widest clearing in the junkyard and coming to a stop. A moment of tranquility resumed in the weary environment for but a second, before the car doors clanked open. Its three occupants exited the vehicle, slamming the doors closed and making their way over to the building in the back of the yard. That is, until Max saw something that caught her eye; with an about-face Caulfield had her spare notebook and pencil in hand, and had dashed to the far side of the junkyard, leaving Kate and Chloe to wander into the concrete abode ahead of her. Once inside, Chloe took her rightful place in the Lay-Z-Boy, reaching for a box beside the chair while Kate politely stood, eyeing the many trinkets and objects in the room before resting her gaze upon the rebar hole in the ceiling.

"Alright, I know for a fact that I put it in here somewhere—aha!" the bluenette pulled from the cardboard depths a single sharpie marker, tossing it to the smaller blonde and pointing to a corner under a small window-like opening in the walls.

"The names are over there, place yours underneath and you'll officially be a part of the pirate gang," Chloe said with a boisterous smirk, lying back into her leather throne as the captain of her mighty, static ship. Kate obliged, neatly writing her name underneath Max's, the four kinds of handwriting attributed from every girl present.

All except one.

"Uhm, Chloe?"

"'Sup Katie-Kat?"

"This uh, Rachel person, is she the one that went to Blackwell?" Kate turned to Price as she asked and regretted it so instantly. The punk was glaring at her, and Kate didn't know if this glare was meant for her or meant for Rachel given the context. Chloe turned her gaze away and didn't say anything for some moments, before she sighed and laid back in her chair again, this time for good.

"Yeah, that's her."

Chloe grew solemn, enough so that Kate placed herself on one of the benches that the recliner faced, twiddling the marker in her hands and waiting for the bluenette to continue.

"I knew her, we were real close—" a hand runs through dyed blue hair— "we'd hang out here sometimes. She…she meant a lot to me," a lanky arm reached for the small cooler near the chair, but Chloe stopped, thought better of it, and retracted the arm.

A pause. "You loved her."

Chloe visibly recoiled at that, taken by surprise at Kate's intuition.

"Yeah, so? Is there a _problem_ with that?" she barked defensively, to which the blonde softly shook her head.

"I can't judge that which I don't truly know, Chloe. If you and Rachel loved each other, then who am I to say such things?" Kate gave her a gentle smile, and Chloe hated how much this girl she'd met only hours before made her feel like they'd been friends for all their lives, in her own kind way. Perhaps if she'd gone out and bothered to be friends with someone like Kate, she wouldn't feel so burdened by the world.

Something about it made Chloe feel struck even more so by grief.

"Shit, I'm sorry."

Kate raised an eyebrow, "What are you sorry for?"

"I thought you were like one of those kinds of people, the kind who just say nice things and don't mean them. No—you're genuine."

Chloe coughs, then fidgets in her chair, sitting forward and silently impressing to the blonde that she was serious, "I wasn't sure why at first, but I see why Max likes you. You care. You don't act all hollow and shitty. You ain't like those 'holier-than-thou' sleazebags they got in the church. You're loyal, I can tell, and that's something I've never seen in any person I've met outside of Max and Rachel."

"Is that so?" Kate asks, perplexed, "Out of _anyone?_ "

"Yeah, s'fine though, I don't need anyone, not when I've got Max and you," Chloe winked, and Kate flustered like a tomato, prompting a laugh from the pirate queen.

That is, until some raising of voices interrupted the punk's guffaws.

Immediately, Chloe was up and moving beyond the threshold, while Kate hesitated with anxious fervor, before joining the bluenette outside, coming up on Chloe peeking from behind a mass of cable wheels. From the perch of Price's shoulder, Kate witnessed a man, blond and gruffy, looking like he'd lived out in the woods for three weeks straight slowly encroach on a startled Max, who was looking for an opportunity to bolt out of his sight.

Chloe silently swore, looking back to mutter a ' _stay here, don't move,_ ' to Kate before boldly stepping out, walking up in front of Max and confronting the man.

"I said we'd meet up, Frank, not get all predatory with my friend," she barked.

"Hey, don't get pissed at me just 'cause I wanted her to speak up, your friend s'too quiet and I can't hear a damn thing she says," he growls, taking one step back and laying his hands in his pockets, his hunched posture made him seem wide and intimidating. Max all but hid behind Chloe, clearly not expecting to meet Frank alone without Price to back her up.

"Look, let's make this short and sweet, no bullshit to cut around. We need some info on one of your clients."

Frank looked blankly at the two for a good three seconds before he wheezed, doubling over to contain the laughter that came forth in sequentially harsh wheezes. Bowers wiped an exerted tear from his eye, almost doubling over again at seeing the stupidly-miffed expressions of the two girls confronting him. Almost coughing from the heavy cackles, he sarcastically jested, "Oh, _sure_ , and while I'm at it, lemme go walk into the police station and boast about what I do for a living. Some sound logic you got there, _goddamn_ ," he chuckled.

"Frank, I ain't fuckin' around, I—we need to know something about one of your clients."

"Sorry, no-can-do, Price. You think I let anyone, especially someone as _trustworthy_ as you in on who I sell to? You'd have better luck making me jump off the cliff."

"Frank, c'mon, don't pull that shit. Look—it's about Prescott, and I need to know if the shit you sold him had anything to do with—"

"You think I give a fuck about what that little shit does? Even if he bought from me, I couldn't care any less on what he does with it. Once it's out of my hands, it's no longer my fucking problem."

"Frank, one of my friends was drugged at a party, _his_ fucking party, and now she can't go outside without being harassed by people. If you know anything about what he bought—and I know he goes to you, don't play that shit—I need to know right fucking now."

Frank just shrugs, his mouth flexed in a straight line and apathetic in his tone.

"It sounds more like your friend shouldn't have gone in the first place."

Like a flip of the switch, Max had morphed from cowering to aggressive, and Chloe hadn't the time to stop her as the brunette stomped towards Frank, a hand pointed accusingly towards him and malice in her bite.

"You shut the _hell_ up, you damn—!"

A _click_ , and Max stumbled back, wide eyed and cowering again, but this time with good reason. Frank snarled as he tightly clutched the switchblade in his hand, extended forward and promising to tear through flesh.

"Stay the fuck away from me if you wanna live, bitch."

Chloe herded Max away and behind her again, glaring at Frank to put the knife away; that is, until an object on Frank's wrist caught her attention.

"What the fuck is that?"

"The fuck you mean, Price, you never seen a switchblade before—?"

"Is that a bracelet?" she coldly spat.

Frank looked to the bracelet of small, pearlescent seashells adorning his wrist, strung together by a sturdy leather string. He paused, cursing himself, and Chloe spat again.

"Is that _Rachel's_ fucking bracelet?"

"Price, what the fuck are you—"

"That's Rachel's bracelet, what the _fuck_ are you doing with her bracelet?!" the punk roared, no longer fearing the instrument in his hands as she lunged forward, intent on ripping the item from his arm. Yet Frank curled away, keeping the knife close and the bracelet closer, like a snake ready to strike.

"Back off, Price. Don't fucking make me," he hissed.

"I think you owe me some fucking answers, Frank." She stayed a distance away, eyeing him with a murderous gleam in her eyes.

"I don't owe you shit, this conversation's fucking over. Get the fuck out of my sight—"

"Francis?"

Frank froze, not only with his movement but also with his words, stuttering a bit as he whipped his head towards Kate, standing off to the side unnoticed the entire time. Chloe grew fearful that he'd threaten Marsh as well, but he didn't. Instead, Price watched him figuratively shrink in stature. So visibly stunned, Bowers locked and pocketed the knife, and rasped to the blonde, "Kate, is that you?"

There was a solemnness in her eyes, and a disappointed twinge to her frown. The petite blonde nodded.

Frank did a doubletake between the three girls, and Chloe could see him pale at some realization. He looked so terribly broken then, and seeing him so suddenly tumble from anger to sorrow made Chloe's head spin, bewildered. Gruffly muttering that he'd return, Frank stiffly trudged his way off, towards his lumbering, dusty RV at the front of the junkyard.

As one, Max and Chloe looked to Kate, waiting for the grand explanation on how the blonde cowed the only drug dealer in Arkadia by merely saying his name. She obliged.

"Before I was born, my parents had tried their hand in raising a foster child as an act of good faith," Kate sadly noted, "the child they adopted turned out to be Francis. He didn't get along well with them, from what my older sister told me. She'd said that while they shared the common belief of God, they couldn't share a single happy dinner together."

"He was fourteen when I was born. Apparently, he liked me the most out of my family. My parents kicked him out of the house when they found out he was doing drugs after he graduated high school, sis told me they'd lost touch with him after that. I always assumed he left, went off and did something with himself that was better than doing drugs, but…" the blonde looked to the RV, watching its door open and Frank stumble outside, "…I didn't think he'd be doing this."

Frank look tired, weary with an unseen weight as he trudged up to the trio. His eyes were bloodshot, and the girls beheld the wrinkled leather hardcover book in his hand. He walked up to Kate, looking riddled with shame, and extended his ledger out to her.

"I—I'm sorry."

Max and Chloe stood, tensely laid back, just waiting for some unknown reason to pounce on Bowers and beat the life out of him if he tried anything on Kate.

The blonde in question stared into Frank, knowing what he did, knowing his part in what he'd done, what he would've done, a disgraced family member with no reputation, no hope, no reasons to justify his terrible actions. And she accepted the book, looking at the worn cover once before looking her older half-brother in the eyes.

"I forgive you."

His eyes glazed over a second after, and they watched him try to keep his posture as he choked down the sobs. Kate didn't need to think about pulling him into an embrace, linking her arms tight around him as he did the same, as still as a statue in her grip, looking far off and away. They remained that way for many a moment, when Frank disengaged first, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his weary jacket and looking forlornly to his little half-sister.

"I gotta go now," he glanced over to Max and Chloe, "I can't trust myself to keep you safe anymore, but they will."

Max noticed Kate become sad over his gripe, but he continued, "They're good people, you keep them close, a'ight?"

Kate nodded.

With a nod of his own, Frank walked away, looking back once to the girls before he sheltered himself in his nomadic home, its engine roared to life and the hulk of a vehicle made its way out of the junkyard.

Above, the birds swirled in a cloud of mass, moving with grace in a solid formation, a sort of sentient being created from the maintained efforts of the many. These birds seemed to follow the trail of the RV, travelling alongside its tinged frame before dissipating into the dulled blue sky.

* * *

A/N - Francis Bowers, otherwise known as "Frank," is a thirty-two year old drug dealer and, in this storyline, adopted half-brother to Kate Marsh. Frank was born to his biological parents, Gustave and Margaret Bowers in August of 1981, and has lived in small-town Arkadia for all his life. Frank was the eldest sibling of two, and had a younger sister by the name of Emma, born a year after Francis was. The Bowers family lived on the poorer end of Arkadia's social class, and this meant Frank was often separated from his parents, who'd work long hours during the days and only be there in the early mornings to take him and his sister to school. This meant that the siblings only had each other for company, and developed a close bond to look after each other. Tragedy would befall Frank at the age of twelve, when his father, who had been struggling with alcoholism and chronic stress, snapped, and murdered his mother and sister out of madness. Frank managed to escape his father's wrath, and was taken in at the lone church in Arkadia, which at the time served as a shelter for the homeless and needy.

It was here at the church that Frank would meet his new family in the form of the Marshes, and would be officially adopted by the Marsh family at the age of fourteen. That same year, Francis had beheld the birth of his little half-sister Kate, and because of the coincidence of her birth being on the same year of him being figuratively freed from his traumatic past, Frank took to caring for Kate the most of the three Marsh sisters. To Frank, Kate represented a second chance at having a caring sibling and another chance at life, that which was stolen from him by his original father.

Unfortunately, this lingering trauma took on effects that were damaging to Frank and his relationship with the religious Marsh family, such as turning to alcohol and drug abuse to cope with his stress. His academic career at Blackwell Academy was marginally above the threshold of failure, and was not enough to get him into any college institution. This effect of coming up just short in his efforts to be successful took a nosedive once Frank's search for a stable job came up empty-handed in the months after graduation. After being caught once with a joint in one hand and a half-empty beer bottle in the other, Francis was swiftly punished by his step-parents, Richard and Evelyn Marsh, and was kicked out of the Marsh household following a bitter conversation about his life choices and trauma.

Now at the age of thirty-two, Frank exists as an independent drug dealer, distributing a slew of various narcotics to willing buyers.


	9. Checkmate, Dear Holmes

"The worst pain a man can suffer: to have insight into much and power over nothing." - Herodotus

* * *

It grew to be the very late afternoon, once Juliet had put the final touches on the story about Prescott. It took many hours, filled with frustration, along with intermediate pauses between passages by Dana. And Juliet was surprised to see her friend maintain her attention about this for so long, as in most cases, only Watson had the fortitude to weather the monotony of writing, fact-checking, then fact-checking again. The tedious nature of citations and references, those measured by interspersed footnotes placed within the work doted the pages, yet when it all came together, Juliet smiled to herself, content.

_Only real journalists use Chicago style, end of._

With a click of the save and print icon, Juliet's printer geared to life, just as a knocking came from her door.

"Come in!"

The door swung open, and Dana quickly clambered into the room.

"So, how'd it go, Da _na_ —!?" and Ward awkwardly swooped Juliet into a bear hug, with a relieved smile shining bright.

"We're set, Jules!" the cheerleader let Watson go, letting her get some air in her lungs, "We gotta go, like, right now though. Wells isn't happy we threw his schedule in the fray."

Juliet nodded, and waited as the pages were slowly spat out of the machine. Dana had booked an "emergency" appointment with Wells once they'd gotten to the final touches of her article. While Juliet was eager to get the green light, there existed a bad feeling in her gut with talking to Wells about their findings. Memories of a past excursion many months ago with the head admin fluttered to the forefront of her thoughts, but Watson dissuaded them. She wanted to be optimistic, even despite her suspicions of the principal of Blackwell.

The printer finished printing the multi-page draft, and with practiced ease Juliet swiped the papers off the tray. A single staple to the top left corner later, and they were rushing to Blackwell's main building. Passing the students still meandering after the last class of the day, they blitzed through the red front doors and walked into the secretary's office.

The receptionist, an old woman sitting at the desk reading the newest edition of _The Oregonian_ , glances up at the two girls, and grunts in the direction of the principal's office, a lacquered wooden door on their left. Needing not to be told twice, the two knocked and barged into the office, catching Principal Wells in the middle of signing documents. With a hurried stroke of the pen, Wells edged the papers off to the side, and directed his attention to the newcomers.

"Ms. Watson," a look to them showed how, to put it nicely, _displeased_ he was at their sudden interruption, "Ms. Ward, what can I help you two with?"

They both took their seats in front of the man's thick mahogany desk, and Juliet wasted no time with setting the article on his desk and pushing it toward him. He eyed the papers with a cautious curiosity, that which morphed to a deep-set frown as he began to read. The two girls watched his expression change rapidly, before ending up as a blank slate and slightly trembling.

"What is this?" he coldly asked.

Juliet and Dana glanced at each other. Juliet took her chance.

"It's an article about the party last Friday, sir."

"And how exactly did you…obtain all of this?"

"I had some reliable informants, sir. They choose to remain anonymous for personal reasons. They approached me with information regarding Prescott's means to funneling drugs into the parties he hosts. I rolled with it, and they gave me those pictures," she gestured to the article in the older man's hands, on the page were several images incorporated into the text.

"I checked the pictures, and I couldn't find any copies of them on the web, meaning that they didn't pull them out from nowhere, sir. I inspected them for hours, and found no signs of them being photoshopped. By all means, sir, they can't be fakes."

Wells looked spooked, already was he building a sheen on his bald head, the light from the window behind him lit the gleam of perspiration atop.

"Have you, uhm, _checked_ , that these informants of yours have not made this up, entirely?" he stuttered at first, before adopting a hollow monotone of a voice. Juliet was almost entirely certain that it had something to do with Nathan throwing one of his hissy fits and forcing his father to step in and strong-arm the school in the boy's favor. If that meant that Wells would take the brunt of such a crisis, then she wasn't surprised by his worry.

"Yes, I have, Mr. Wells. I've fact-checked the article three times now, I'll do it a fourth if I have to. If you want, I can have the English teacher, Ms. Hoida, review the draft and help make sure it's to standard."

He looked terrified, almost. Her answer about the legitimacy of the article did anything but placate him. Having laid the piece atop his desk, the principal slumped back into his chair, noticeably disturbed. With a sigh, he reached down behind his desk, and opened a drawer the two couldn't see. Whatever it held, he didn't take it out, and instead Wells leaned forward in his chair and let another sigh punctuate his sour mood.

"I understand that you've been our best reporter for the past year or so, Ms. Watson. However, for the sake of your credibility and this school's reputation, I'd advise you refrain from posting this article to the public. I will not allow the potential slander of any student, including Mr. Prescott, be tolerated here at Blackwell. I am willing to overlook this perversion of school privileges with a warning. If you go forth with this," and he lowered his voice the slightest, commanding, "I will have no choice but to administer a punishment as determined by the Blackwell Code of Academic Conduct."

It was blindsiding to them indeed, to be threatened by the principal, no less than a Prescott.

Dana was visibly distraught, but Juliet was unafraid, sparking with agitation. She didn't want to use the nuclear option she'd thought about in the event the conversation went south, and she'd be _really_ testing her luck, but Watson wasn't going to let a prime story like this from being silenced. She had hoped Wells would be decent enough to understand the situation, but Juliet concluded he had his head too far up his ass to care about the truth. The price one must pay to see the truth come to light, is never cheap.

"Sir, with all due respect, there has never been a more concrete story I've worked with up until now. Since I first heard about it, I've done the reports, I have multiple witness testimonies, and I'm even sure you've seen the many _videos_ of what happened at that party," she jabbed, clenching the armrests of the chair to keep from standing up, she needed to be calculated about this part, "so you know as much as I do how badly this could go down for Blackwell if we, if _you_ , decide to lie to the public. I know it doesn't seem like it will help, but if the people don't know the truth about what's going on, there will be _far_ worse repercussions than there is now."

Yet Wells looked entirely unconvinced, and opened his mouth to shut Juliet down with his platitudes and half-veiled threats, and adrenaline seized the reporter so suddenly; she jumped out her seat, and gestured pointedly to the article lying between them—

"Sir, I am asking you out of the goodness of my heart! I couldn't care about my reputation if it meant I'd be lying to people. I don't care what you throw at me, I will not let this one go—"

" _Miss_ Watson, I am not going to entertain this fallacy of yours any longer—"

_Fuck this._

"Oh, right, like as if a _fallacy_ like this would be the most you've dealt with. Tell me, _Mister_ Wells, do you remember the girl that disappeared at that Internationale party six months ago, who happened to be a student at _your_ school? I remember. I had written three separate pieces on that one incident alone," Juliet slowly leaned in, forgone was the desire to be professional, "and I found a lot of evidence, _sir_ , that indicated her disappearance to be foul play, and what did you tell me when I had all the dots lined up and all the evidence ready to hand off to the police, and to the courts, on my own?"

Juliet watched the wrinkles around his brow tense even more, and she relished the feeling of sticking it to the rat bastard.

"You told me you would save me the trouble of going through the process of it all and do it on my behalf, and four weeks later, the investigation was closed. They cited it as _due to a lack of sufficient evidence_ , as matter of fact."

He knew. She knew that he knew. He knew that she was aware of what he'd done.

"Ms. Watson, that is _enough_ —"

"Tell me, _sir_ , what exactly happened to make a solid case like that go up in ash and smoke? All that evidence, all the testimonies of the previous victims— _all of them Blackwell students, I might add_ —were indicating that they were abused in some way beyond physical, and including the one disappearance, they have all happened in or around the Blackwell campus."

Wells was sweating bullets. For what reason, it didn't matter to Juliet anymore.

"So now as I find out there's been _another_ incident last week, along with a dump of information, _reliable information_ , that I am certain is real, I have no choice but to go forward with this. I had hoped that you would be for supporting the truth and wanting to bring your _former_ students justice, but instead I see that you do not give a damn about the truth," Juliet seethed, pointing her finger menacingly at Wells, who shot up from his chair to his full height, towering over her by a good foot and a half.

"That is _enough_ —!" he shouted over her.

" _No_ , sir!" she shouted back, "I will not stand by and see one of _your_ students get away with his apparent crimes because of _your_ inaction! Maybe if you actually cared you'd have done something about it long ago, but the way I see it, _you'd_ _let your own students_ _die_ if it meant you could save face!"

" _SILENCE!_ "

A slam of the desk punctuated the guttural, baritone command, as Wells outright glared her down, the sudden roar was shrill on her eardrums, and shocked Juliet out of her tirade. She took a step back, away from the visibly seething principal, yet stood ramrod straight. She wouldn't dare show her fear to the real coward in the room, especially now.

"The both of you will forget about this and return to your dorms. If I hear anything about this slander being displayed, by paper or otherwise," he had his eyes locked on Watson, promising her his threats were not hollow this time, "then there will be _immediate_ consequences. You both are smart enough to know what happens should you not heed my warning," and he coldly hammered his authority into every syllable, and jammed it down their throats, leaving them to stew in bristling tension.

Dana, having been still as stone during the whole exchange, now silently got up from her seat, and coaxed Juliet with a nod to the door, as she silently walked out. Juliet glared at Wells for a few seconds longer, before turning and following her friend, signifying her departure by slamming the door shut.

Wells sighed, and sat down in his luxurious chair. A moment passed, before he reached for his desk phone.

"Ms. Burlough? Hold my calls and appointments for the rest of today," he rasped, frustrated and tired.

The principal then rummaged through the still open drawer beside him, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass and setting them on the desk.

* * *

And as soon as Dana clicked the door shut, she turned around to face her best friend, now leaning on the back of the chair, heaving away an anxiety attack, and using the chair as leverage as she tensed. Immediately was Dana enveloping Watson in a hug, loose around the shoulders, so that Juliet could latch onto her and ride out the emotional torrent with someone to keep her grounded. Dana didn't say a word as the harsh, choked cries wracked her friend's frame, and Juliet convulsed as her muscles tensed and untensed in rapid succession, before the feeling of being anchored down held her still, and the anxiety-ridden reporter slumped into Dana's embrace, now tired from the exertion.

They stayed like that for a good few minutes, just listening to the sound of the sparrows chirp from the pine trees outside, or the slight droning of the air conditioner unit up on the roof. Dana thinks back to the time this happened before, when Juliet had moved in many years back, having overstressed herself on the first day and ending up with Ward as her first friend in the academy.

"I gotta delete it," Juliet mumbled into the cheerleader's shoulder.

"No, you don't."

"I hav'to!" and Juliet fell out of the embrace, landing in the chair and turning her laptop on, "I knew I fucked up when I shouted at him, I fucked up so bad—"

"You didn't do anything outside of what you shouldn't, you know that, we both know that," retorted Dana, placing a hand on her friend, yet Juliet was shivering with anxious fervor again.

The computer pulled up File Explorer, the article laid before the girls in a single bar, placed between all the other renditions of it and other projects Juliet had typed previous. The cursor moved very hesitantly up to the item, right-clicking and scrolling down the options list to the delete button.

The final notification that she'd be trashing her work forever, gave Juliet pause.

"You shouldn't do it, Jules," whispered Dana, tugging slightly at the reporter's shoulder, "Jules, look at me."

Bloodshot eyes looked up to Ward, looking on as if she'd be pleading to the brunette for another path to take, another option other than this.

Dana continued, "You remember what you said to him, about not giving up on this, no matter the consequences?"

Juliet nodded.

"Then you know as much as I do that there's no reason to back out now, than to fight. Wells not helping us out sucks alright, but we don't need to listen to him if all he's gonna do is threaten us for exposing Prescott for what he is."

Juliet glared pensively at the notification, lost to her thoughts over the conversation with their principal. Truly, it had been a bit of a risk, considering that the man had a shoddy record of laying down the hammer on the resident prince of Blackwell, but they'd hoped that with enough damning evidence, they'd swing Wells into their favor.

_So much for that._

"Also, what was up with that thing you said, about Rachel Amber? Why was he so...so upset about it?"

Juliet's features darkened, recalling with perfect clarity the series of events that unfolded from that clusterfuck.

"I had all the evidence and testimonies the police could ever need in a court trial, it'd take that little bastard's whole family fortune to keep him out of jail, if they'd fight it. I was naïve, I thought this school cared enough about justice to be on my side. Wells asked me if I'd let him handle the evidence on my behalf, told me he'd deal with the whole process of admitting it to the courts for me—" a sniff, Juliet brushed a hand down the left side of her face, shrouded in self-disappointment.

"He didn't do a goddamn thing."

Dana watched frustration cross her friend's face, watched her fists, clenching and unclenching, she watched Watson tremble with terrible anger. The cheerleader took one of her hands and rolled circles on the bronze-blonde's back, and Juliet slightly relaxed.

"I was stupid enough to forget to make a copy of my notes and interviews, an' next thing I know, my old computer gets swiped by someone and I find it shattered in two out in the parking lot. You remember that?"

Dana nodded, pulling her hand away as Juliet shifted in her seat, turning to the silver computer and eyeing the article before her, "Think about it, D. If the principal is able to bury a girl like Rachel without any remorse, just like that, what do you think he could get away with, with the rest of us?"

Ward frowned, not of anger, but of worry over where Juliet was taking this.

"To think, not only do we hav'to deal with that rat bastard, Nathan, we also gotta deal with a principal who'd sweep us under the rug if given the chance. I'd bet he's no better than a puppet of the Prescotts, just like too many people are in this town."

The thought of being unable to trust the very being that held control over her future education terrified Juliet, as she looked over to the photo resting on the desk, and felt her insides twist in dreadful knots. It wouldn't take much to ruin her and all her friends, if Wells was daring enough. All he had to do was find a decent enough excuse to boot them out and weather the public backlash, before Big Brother came in and funneled thousands to keep him settled.

"Then we fight him, too."

A few seconds of hesitation, before Juliet looked to Dana, utterly perplexed at the cheerleader's notion, "Wait, what?"

"We can't trust him, therefore, we take the fight to him just like with Prescott," Ward was muttering to herself, but piqued Juliet's attention as the reporter watched her friend pace in a loose circle around her room.

"Dana, I don't think—"

"It's perfect, we'll be swinging a curveball at him, and he won't ever see it coming."

"Dana, wait."

"With you getting the deets, and me and everyone else throwin' the yeets, anything's possible."

"Dana, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Then when everything's set, we catch him with his trousers down, and then _—_ " Dana whacks a fist into the palm of her other hand, as if the problems had been crushed then and there, " _Pow!_ He's toast! And then everything will be alri—"

" _Dana!_ "

Dana turns, and regards Juliet with sudden embarrassment, and with a hand on the back of her neck, the auburnette mumbles an apology. That is, until she notices that Juliet isn't looking in her direction anymore, gaze now fixed to the group pic sitting forlornly upon the wooden desktop.

"Jules?"

"I'm not dragging any of you into this, that's final."

Dana frowned, "Since when did you decide what's best for us? What if we _want_ to go along with this?"

"Since when did _you_ speak for them?"

"I don't."

Dana pulled out her iPhone, and after flicking the screen a couple times, she placed it on the desk, in front of Juliet to see. Noticing a text conversation, Juliet tucked the phone closer, and silently read the messages. After a minute of this silence, Juliet sighed, and leveled the phone back on the desk, looking slightly distraught as she peered up to Dana.

"All of you?"

Dana crossed her arms, looking hopefully defiant at her friend, as if daring her to dissuade the inevitable. To her credit, Watson knew when she'd been beat, and slumped in her chair, sniffling, wiping a single tear from her right eye.

"We all know how much this means to you. Now you know how much you mean to us. It may not seem like it, but they're also worried if another case like Rachel happens again," so Dana crouched to Juliet's level, looping an arm around in support, "They see you as the only one who can make a stand, and they're willing to follow you, regardless of what Wells does."

Another tear, this time from her left eye, trails down Juliet's cheek and is wiped with the subtle flick of the wrist, a sniffle is all Juliet has to say.

They'd put their whole lives, everything they worked for at risk, just because they trusted _her_ —

"What happens if he expels them, if he kicks them out?" Juliet whispered, fearing to hear the truth be spoken so loudly.

"They already have backup plans for this, they prepared for something like this to happen long ago, before we even met them. You're not gonna ruin anything, Jules."

"But what if I fuck up? What if I fuck up again, Dana? What if it all goes wrong?"

Dana pulled her closer, and looked on to the computer, idle since they first started talking, "Tell me, Jules, you love your parents, don't you?"

Another sniffle, "Of corsh'."

"Then tell me; what did they tell you, when you first came here, to this place, to Blackwell?"

The birds sung a high string of notes outside, a grand finale to some melody never to be understood, before flying off, out beyond the view of the window. Juliet gently shrugged off the arm around her, sitting up and scooting closer to the laptop, taking hold of the mouse.

The cursor edged away, hovering over the cancel button and with a single click, the death of her effort was avoided.

"I remember my parents telling me that I was gonna be the best reporter this school ever had, and I didn't think it to be true," the cursor now moved to the save and print option, a click brought up the preview screen, "but now, I'm starting to think they were onto something."

And Dana smiled, bright and luminous, "Yeah, I think so too."

* * *

"And so I said to 'em, I ain't doin' your homework, and that's that. So then this big round-egg of a guy walks up to me, y'know, tryna' get me all intimidated, and he growls at me ' _what makes you say that?_ ' and you know what I said?"

A monotone, almost bored voice responded, "What'd you say, Stella?"

"I told that fat bastard that he outta watch where he steps, an' next thing you know, _WHAM_ —" and Stella motioned with a sideways swing of her hand, "From the door behind him, they sprung the trap, and he got his legs swept from underneath him, right at the knees!" Stella cackled, reaching out and taking a sip from the water bottle placed on the table next to her. She looked to the couch opposite the furniture and took in the sight of the other two keeping her company.

Brooke, the one inquiring, looked up from her iPhone and was tempted to roll her eyes, for she'd already heard this story word-for-word, but she didn't want to ruin the other girl's fun. The third girl sitting next to her, Alyssa, looked on enraptured, giving out a light-hearted chuckle at the story Stella narrated to them.

"Oh man, that shit was _funny_. The poor bastard, from what I heard after graduation, he got renamed to Humpty Dumpty after that. Dude had to go through a whole year afterwards of " _Humpty Dumpty_ " or " _Dumpty Dumbass_ " and all kinds of stupid shit. I swear, those kids nearly drove him to suicide."

Now she had both of their attention, as no one mentions the prospects of something as grave as death within their circle and Brooke hadn't heard of this part before, "Wait, hold up, you're serious?" asked Brooke.

"That's all I heard, but I don't think he actually did it though," and Stella's smile disappeared, and a pinch in her brows replaced it, "That is, I don't really care, to be honest. He was an absolute asshole to me and everyone else. Bastard swiped enough pencils and spat enough lies to earn him a token of notoriety with everyone that wasn't close to him."

"That's brutal," murmured Alyssa, with a morbid kind of curiosity.

"Oh yeah, it's fucked. But that's just how it is. Life's hard, so you gotta be hard, too. There's too much dark in this world already, why bother trying to be all forgiving, when it does nothing?"

"Amen to that," seconded Brooke, turning her attention back to texting whoever it was, and leaving Alyssa to marvel at the intricate décor of Juliet's room.

"Uhm, Stella?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think, that uh—that she'll like me?" Alyssa stuttered, nervously rubbing a thumb over knuckles.

"Who, Juliet? Yeah, she'll like you. She's prolly gonna ask you a lot of questions, 'cause that's how she is, but I think you'll be fine."

The door to the room was suddenly opened, and the three looked to the newcomers, who trudged in as if coming back from a midday run.

"Dana, Juliet, what's good?" chirped Stella, rising from her spot on the floor and giving the former a swift welcoming hug.

"We're doing alright, thanks to you guys," Dana reciprocated, "and thanks for helping us put up the printouts today."

"Don't mention it, we don't got much to do around here anyways."

"Seriously, don't mention it," Brooke quipped sarcastically, "I'd appreciate staying around for a little longer before my parents decide to yank me out of here."

Dana chuckled at the jest, and looked to Juliet, who had sat herself in front of her computer and was pulling up the school's website, specifically to her student account. The reporter hastily pulled up the journalist's portal, set about to the editorial section, and frantically opened up the article. Looking at Watson was like watching a roadrunner be held still for five minutes, and so intensely was Juliet wound with tension that it seemed like she was possessed.

Noticing the lack of noise, Dana looked to the others also watching Watson, all with varying states of worry and in some cases looking to her for a hopeful explanation. Dana could only shrug.

"Uh, Jules? You good?"

"Gimme a sec."

A staccato of keyboard clicking, before a dramatic _clack_ of the enter key signaled the finishing of whatever Watson was working on. She shifted in her seat, looking tired beyond the measure sleep can fix.

"It's done."

"What do you mean?" asked Stella.

"It's on the website, anyone who goes on there will see it, and I know Wells doesn't check until his receptionist lets him know."

"Wait, doesn't she wake up real early?" the ebony brunette inquired, concerned.

"Nah, not on Thursdays. They stopped doing early hours on Tuesdays and Thursdays to save money."

Dana smirked, "Well, damn, the world's turning in our favor this time."

"Yeah, huh." Juliet slumped in her chair, now taking notice of the unfamiliar face in her dorm.

"Wait, do I know you?"

Brooke looked up from her phone, watching Juliet eye Alyssa with curiosity, and the stockier girl in question stuttered her greeting, "Well u-uhm, no."

"Oh yeah, shit—Juliet, this is Alyssa, Alyssa Anderson," interjected Stella, having claimed her spot on the foldable chair in a corner close to the couch, "I met her this semester, she's pretty cool."

"Nice to meet you," Anderson nodded her head, which was reciprocated by Juliet, "Nice to meet you too, Alyssa."

"So you're one of the new ones, huh?" Juliet asked.

"Yeah."

"Where you from, then?"

"Renton, Seattle."

Juliet's eyebrows raise slightly.

"Wait a minute, you were there when the Riots happened, weren't you?"

Alyssa visibly tensed. Beside her, Stella and Brooke subtly took interest in Anderson's fidgeting, curious.

"Y-yeah, it's the reason my family moved here," the raven-haired girl fidgeted slightly on the couch, "my father had to sell his gym in Seattle to get the money for us. The highways were blocked with traffic for miles, but we got through it."

A pause. Then, "…what about your mother?" asked Juliet.

Alyssa answered with nothing. She stared down at her hands. The atmosphere dimmed in the room and weighed upon the shoulders of all of the girls.

"Shit, uh—I'm sorry, Alyssa."

"It's fine," Anderson softly spoke, "she wouldn't want me to dwell on it."

Another prolonged silence reigned over them, until Dana audibly cleared her throat, directing the attention towards her.

"Y'know, I still have both my parents. They live in the motel down Main Street, the one right next to that grocery store by the roundabout. Every once in a while, they come up and visit me, y'know, and always try to make me happy, always wanting to do things with me. I don't mind it much, but I keep thinking about what I'd do, if I were them. I don't wanna take them for granted, 'cause what happens if they just, _poof_ —" and with a flayed motion of hands, Dana continues, "what if they're gone all of a sudden, and then what?"

The others beheld the story with rapt attention, taking every word to heart and letting it fester within tangible emotion.

"I just...I want to make them feel like what they did was worthwhile, that they didn't waste their lives on me."

Dana fell quiet then, and looked to Juliet, silently asking her to take the chance. With a sigh, Juliet obliged, "Even with the Riots, my family and I were pretty lucky. We never had to move from our home over on the north side, it just meant we had a lot less food on the table. But, I saw how stressed my parents were, and it made me want to never be a burden to them. So I did as best I could, which wasn't that great to be honest, but it was enough to get into this place here," laying back in her chair, Juliet pensively eyed the off-white ceiling above, "I don't see them often, but I hope the next time I do, I get to tell them how much they mean to me."

Like a driving force, the eyes of everyone shifted to the person to Juliet's left, Brooke, who didn't pay heed until a good few seconds after the sudden silence. Glancing up, she did a double take, coughed, then started in her monotone pitch, "I guess I'd miss my parents, if they ever appreciated what I wanted to do," Brooke placed her phone off to the side and sat up, "they'd constantly harp on me about what I'd do wrong, what I wasn't doing right. I never felt good enough to them, so when I got accepted into Blackwell I opted to live in the dorms, to stay the hell away from them."

Forlorn looks crossed the faces of the others as Brooke deadpanned, "I had picked being a mechanical engineer out of spite because of them, but it turns out I'm actually pretty good at it. So I stuck with it. I hardly ever see my parents, and frankly I don't think I want to see them."

The spectacled girl rested her head upon the upper edge of the couch, looking torn between ending her spiel then and there, or going further. In the end, before everyone decided she'd said all she wanted, Brooke spoke, "I hate it, having to keep away from them even though they supposedly care. I just want them to accept me. For who I _am_ , and not for what I _could_ _be_."

The momentum pushed on to Stella, who'd adopted a sympathetic look, "I feel you about that, Brooke. I don't got the best of memories with my parents," she looked to her water bottle to avoid the gazes of the others, "my older sister was always their favorite, mostly 'cause...she, uhm, she was the one who'd been planned for."

Stella heard the individual apologies spill forth and it filled her with a sudden guilt, for even if she was to pour her heart out, she felt it to be not out of pity. So she promptly cackled, and with a dismissive wave of the hand Stella dissuaded their pity-words.

"Guys, it's fine, don't worry 'bout it," the ebony brunette chuckled, "it's not tearing me up or anything—I mean, yeah, it hurts sometimes, but it's whatever. If there's one thing they taught me well, it's that life is unforgiving, and you need all the help you can get. Ah—I grew up in the south residential area, y'know, near the middle school on Third Street, you all've seen that place, right?"

With the affirmation of nodding heads, Stella continued, "Well, that's where I dealt with most people I've met, lot of shallow types and whatnot. 'Cept I met Brooke there, so it was all worth it," with a cheeky smile Stella recalled to memories the two shared, "'ey, Brooke, you remember that one time, before Humpty Dumpty, when those dudes were runnin' out in the street in their underwear after they tried stealing some prototype of yours?"

"My father's second attempt at an improvised firework mortar," Brooke chuckled fondly at the memory, "yeah, I remember. It's even funnier because my parents were the ones to spot them. You were there, Stell'; we were watching that movie, inside our house together, and my Dad looks over to the window out back and started sputtering."

"Oh shit, yeah—" Stella cackled something fierce, being shushed by the others who're now interested in what came next.

"My mom starts asking him what's wrong, and he points over to the shed in the back of the yard, and we could see them trying to lug the entire thing, all eighty pounds of it, to the outside gate—" Brooke's grin widened, "one of them tripped I guess, they dropped it right on the mortar's plate, right on the charge that my Dad had forgotten to take out, and then next thing we know, the firework just blows up in their faces."

" _BOOM—!_ " echoed Stella, "The poor bastards, they were running down the street when I went outside to look, they looked like one of those wendigos or something scary like that, they were screaming their heads off and everything!"

A chorus of snickers rung in the quiet abode. Outside, the light dimmed to its evening glow.

* * *

A/N - The Great Riots, otherwise known as the Housing Riots or simply "The Riots," was a period of unrest in the United States, and to an extent the European Union, that lasted from the early Spring of 2008 until the mid-summer of 2010. Its conception began with the domino-effect of factors that ultimately led to a general decline in the U.S. economy and by extension, the world economy as a whole. Following the steep decrease of housing prices, this led to a loss of trust in the mortgage-backed securities held by investment banks across America, and this in turn led to a lack of funds available to homeowners and businesses alike. What once was a flow of money and capital turned into a coagulation of paying down debts, and this in turn led to civil unrest in almost all fifty state capitals. As the decline grew more sharp and prominent on the life of the average citizen, civil unrest turned to protesting and ultimately, rioting.

Large, dependent metropolitan cities including Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, Portland, Chicago, Austin, Houston, New York, New Jersey, and Washington D.C. and many other state capitals not listed all fell into a state of emergency within the first two weeks of the recession. It came to be, that once the cities' police departments were effectively repulsed by the sheer number of rioters within these cities, that many attempts of secession or autonomous zones outside of federal jurisdiction were attempted by the rioters. Looting of all forms of businesses, especially the offices of many high-ranking companies and their subsidiaries was the subject of the media spanning the entirety of the disaster.

The President, with a divided legislative government and no judicial authority beyond the order to requisite the states' National Guard, was mostly ineffective in their response to stem the severity of the recession, and instead looked to the sudden influx of violence across the country as something that was inevitable. State governments, by variation of their ideology, either quickly suppressed the lawless communes forming in their cities, or did nothing to curb the intentions of the people in said communes. The last of the extreme effects of the recession and by extension, the Riots, waned following policies eventually passed by Congress and the President in the early months of 2010, with recovery showing signs in the summertime that same year. That present administration and party would be extensively voted out of office in the proceeding election of 2012.

The separation of this recession when compared to the Great Depression of the 1920-30's, was not the severity of the crash, despite it having the potential to be as debilitating if not more so than the crash of 1929; it was the reaction of the government and the people that make it one of the most devastating. Upwards of $3 billion dollars worth of damage to property, to businesses, and to citizens that had their homes damaged or whose lives were taken in the violence, was the greatest toll that the United States had ever faced since the L.A. riots in 1992. While not an exact amount, estimates in 2010 placed the total number of those killed during The Riots to at least 130 people. After the dust had settled, all the public had attained beyond a semblance of their previous lives, was an unshakable cynicism for the government, at both federal and state level. Not only that, it spurred a need to look for more effective countermeasures of government inaction, and thus, the adoption of radical political solutions by many who blamed the government for the destruction.


	10. Father-at-Arms

"But on one man's soul it hath broken,

A light that doth not depart,

And his look, or a word he hath spoken,

Wrought a flame in another man's heart." - Arthur O'Shaughnessy, excerpt of the poem _Ode,_ from _Music and Moonlight (1874)_

* * *

The drive back to Arkadia was mostly silent, save for the occasional cough and sniffle from the occupants within Chloe's truck. Max first believed it be from Kate, having been hiding the emotional stress since the start of the day, but Chloe had managed to clog her nose with dust during their time out in the junkyard, and she fell into a sneezing fit shortly after starting for home.

Home, to the Price household.

It was growing late. The sun had started dipping under the horizon of the bay. Curfew was soon to be in effect, and none of them wanted to be separated at the moment. The traffic had spurred into rush hour, and the road that led in and out of town was choked at red traffic lights. So they detoured, down Cedar Ave on a left turn, and drove past the tired stretch of the residential area, before ending up in the driveway of a quaint two story home, it's exterior painted a deep shade of dark blue that was accented with white.

"Home, shit home."

Chloe pulled the keys from the ignition and muttered to herself as she clambered out the truck, the two others following her as they trudged up to the front door. After a ring of the doorbell, the girls were greeted by a livelier Joyce than before, ushering them into the foyer as she gave each of them a welcoming hug. The woman explained to them that she'd been allowed to get off work early, rush hour at the diner wasn't as horrendous this Wednesday like it had been previous.

It brought some small sense of wholesome amusement to Max and Kate, as Joyce near clung to her daughter with such motherly fierceness, causing Chloe to fluster. Having to pry herself out of her mother's arms, the younger Price spoke with finality that they would be relaxing in her room, and beckoned her friends up the stairs to the second floor, though not before Joyce reminded them that dinner would be ready soon.

Chloe affirmed the reminder with a slam of the door, and with a practiced grace, threw herself upon her bed, bouncing the slightest. Max took her spot in the chair next to the solitary desk, beside the large mattress, glancing out the window the desk faced before looking to Kate, who had opted to stand close to the brunette. Kate's gaze roamed the messy, unkempt room, observing the many possessions that held some unknown value to the bluenette, their meaning she had no grasp of. So with a sigh, the blonde tore her eyes away from the flag that draped from another window near the bed, and pulled the ledger from her purse.

"I suppose you'd want this, Max," Kate passed the book into Max's hands, and the brunette gave a hushed ' _thanks,_ ' before opening the worn hardcover. She was met with a small piece of paper, upon which were scribbled random names of what were Frank's clients, and next to them, what appeared to be their codename equivalent: dog breeds.

Idly wondering why a bastard like Frank liked dogs enough to use as a code, Max turned the page and struck the jackpot. In summarized lines were all the transactions that Frank had taken part in, starting from the very beginning of the decade up until the present day. Flipping to the most recently used page in the book only confirmed her predictions.

"Hey Chloe, come check this out."

With a groan, the punk clambered out of her damningly comfy spot on the bed and meandered beside Max's left, leaning aside to look down at what the brunette had found. She suddenly took on a sort of interest and leaned closer, studying the slip of paper Max had set aside.

"You gotta be kidding me, a fuckin' bulldog? Really?"

Max smirked, "I'm gonna guess you weren't so friendly to him before."

An exasperated scoff, "Damn right I wasn't, why would I be? I still remember that one time when he gave me a low grade instead of the half-shelf I paid for, shit was disappointing as balls."

Max looked up inquisitively, but Chloe didn't want to elaborate on her tastes and brought the mousy girl's attention back to the paper, pointing out the one name they were looking for.

"There he is—heh, figured he'd be a Rottweiler."

Max looked to the name placed next to Rottweiler, and sure enough, there was Nathan's first name, scribbled between the German Shepard above and the Boxer below. From there, Max flipped to the near last page of the ledger, and tracked the dealings made by Rott in the first days of October. There, on the fourth day, Max noticed a dealing between Frank and Nathan: the prince had paid big time for what was some cocaine, some speed, and whatever the hell Frank had titled, "Fire bud". Even more so, later that same day, was another dealing of five grams of "GHB".

"GHB? What even is that?"

"Gamma-hydroxybutyrate."

Max did a doubletake at Chloe, who'd spouted such a name like as if it was the most common thing in the world, "Wait, what?"

"GHB, gamma-hydroxy-butyrate. Most people call it the...the 'date rape' drug, because of its effects on the body," From off to the side, Max saw Kate visibly tense at the implied wording, and looked worriedly back to Chloe. The bluenette had a scowl upon her features, marred with a familiar sense of dread she'd felt for six months strong. Seeing the proof, there, in front of her, it itched at an insatiable curiosity, with a swiftness unbefitting her, Chloe swiped the book and skimmed a few pages back.

"Chloe how do you—?"

"I figured Prickskott must've done something to Rachel for her to disappear, so I decided to dig into what would be his go-to for parties. Fucker always was a twitchy little spastic—"

Chloe suddenly stopped swiping at the pages, and a tense silence reigned as she read, and no one dared to stifle the permeating sense of cold that now radiated from Price. The two students watched with a trembling fervor as Chloe's expression told them of what she found, as her scowl deepened, it raged like an impending discharge before settling into an empty mask.

With a huff, the bluenette halfheartedly tossed the book back onto the desk, and made way to falling onto her bed with undignified grandeur, and Max was certain she was doing everything in her power to not lash out in tears. Looking back to the book showed exactly why. On the day that Rachel had disappeared and just prior to such, Nathan had been in business with Frank. A weight befell Max's heart and she felt herself slump in the chair, the realization of just how dangerous Nathan was and what he was capable of, it now terrified her so.

That is, until she caught the name at the bottom of Frank's client list, and suddenly snorted in bewilderment.

It didn't go unnoticed, "Max, are you alright?"

"I feel like I should be asking you that, Kate," she took the piece of paper and, with sudden, trembling poise, dramatically pointed an outstretched hand towards the blonde, "or should I say, _Chihuahua!_ "

Immediately did Caulfield crumble with a spasm of laughter, gripped with a noticeably forced sense of hysteria, and it was enough to gain the bewildered ire of Chloe, who'd turned over to glare at her. Kate stood still, unsure as to what exactly was going on, but not liking where it was headed, as the piece of paper in Max's hands ended up on the bed with the cackling brunette on the floor.

"The fuck you laughing for, Maximus?"

Piqued, Chloe snatched the piece from its place, and looked it over, before a wicked, self-serving smile carved itself into being, and with a cheeky glint in her ice blue eyes the bluenette looked to a now worried Kate.

"Oh, she's got you now, Katie-Kat. There ain't no hiding from this," as Chloe points to where the blonde could just make out what had caused Max to lose herself to laughter. At the bottom of the list, in small, careful wording, was the name 'Katie' written next to Chihuahua, and Kate could _feel_ the incredulousness swell in her heart.

"But I don't do drugs," the blonde frowned, miffed by the implication.

"Katie-Kat, as of right now I smoke weed for a living. You think I'm gonna judge? I'm not sure about Max though," looking to the floor, they found Max _still_ laughing, almost to tears.

"That's not what I meant," Kate sulked, feeling so indignant at the fact that there was some doppelganger with a similar name getting high somewhere unknown.

" _Oh-ho-ho_ , jeez—" and with a final cackle, Max hoisted herself to the bed, laying on her back and basking in how unnecessarily funny that was, "Alright, I'm done, I'm done."

"Y'know guys, I got some here. There ain't no shame in trying."

"I'm good, Chlo," Max dissuaded, catching her breath.

"I don't— _sigh_ —I'll pass, Chloe."

"Aw, c'mon Kate, just this once, you'll feel a whole lot better than before and that's a promise," the punk reached a lanky arm under her bed, and clutched a weary little metal tin no bigger than the palm of her hand, covered all 'round in graffiti and artsy touches. Prying the lid open, Chloe reached in and pulled out a small plastic bag, and within its confines was what looked to be some very dubious green substance, that which Kate identified as the very thing her parents had harped about for years on end.

"Behold, my sweet Mary Jane," Chloe spoke with a sort of pride, "now look, I ain't gonna force you, but if you've ever wanted to delve in the mystical wonders brought by the vibrant herbs of Mother Earth, then now's your chance."

Kate held herself still, primed with the chance of a lifetime but even still she held herself back. With all this stress, this mounting pressure that had been barely alleviated by her friends' efforts, it enticed Kate to a release, one that didn't involve hating herself until she broke down into a sobbing mess. So her mind likened the substance to the little figurative voice in her ear, whispering the assurance of a good time should she dare to go beyond her boundaries.

Yet, even as Chloe promised not to be pushy about her offer, Kate felt her gut instinct triumph over such inner strife, and with a sigh, she politely spoke, "Pardon me, Chloe, but I'd rather not."

"A'ight, suit yourself."

Chloe then spent the time rolling up a nice, solid blunt, with such careful precision unbefitting of her. Kate found herself so enamored by the gentle care that Price rolled into the joint that she, and the others, failed to notice the rumble from beyond the bedroom.

It was the muffled slam of the front door that caused all of them to flinch, and they looked to Chloe's door, suddenly feeling themselves in the presence of something unknown and dreadful. It didn't help that as Kate looked to Chloe, she saw Price's eyes widen like saucers.

" _Oh no._ "

With a crazed haste the punk slapped the blunt into the tin and fished for the lid.

"Chloe, what was that—?"

Max looked to her best friend to ask what was wrong, but then they heard the drum of footsteps. Ominous and thundering with might, they carried a promise of power behind them as they sounded closer and closer, up the stairs they came. Out of instinct, the girls shifted further away from the door, with Chloe sliding the tin under her bed in a rush and bounding back in front of Max and Kate, just in time for her door to be swung open, slamming off the doorstop with enough force to bounce back a bit.

Max and Kate felt a cold shiver run up their spines, at the sight of the man standing before them.

"Christ, d'you even fucking bother with knocking!?" Chloe barked.

"Joyce told me you were home, I had to see for myself," the gruff baritone voice of David Madsen, Blackwell's head security guard, responded, and with a glowering expression did he eye the two hiding behind Chloe, "are those your friends?"

"Of-fucking-course they are, what's it to you?"

"I just want to know. I don't appreciate strangers in my house," he coldly retorted, and crossed his arms, standing tall and mighty. Never did the scowl remove itself to his face, only did it vary in intensity, and as of now it was glaring at the likes of Max and Kate.

Chloe caught his attention with a pointed sigh, "Look, David, I don't think Joyce is wanting another shouting match, so why don't you just _leave us alone_ , and go tinker with your little man-toy down in the garage, sound good?"

He chuckled then, amused, "I would, if only you'd stop giving me a reason to keep getting on your case," and he takes an exaggerated sniff, eyes darting to the bed, "like that weed you got," he pokes, and Chloe flinches in surprise, enough to give herself away. Yet David doesn't move immediately, instead he shakes his head slightly and looks disappointedly to his step-daughter.

"Chloe, for the last time, I'd told you to _not_ bring drugs into my house," He sternly warned, and slowly stomped his way toward the bed, the girls kept as much distance from him as possible and watched him edge up to Price, who stood her ground, and glared defiantly at him.

"Are these friends of yours the reason you've been toking up?" he asks, side-eyeing Max and Kate huddled near the desk.

"No, they're not, don't be so fucking hostile to them just because you don't know 'em," Chloe snipped back.

"I'm just curious, there's no need for you to be so disrespectful to me just because I don't know who your friends are," he bit back, louder, more agitated, "Given your last "friends," I'm not really inclined to trust who you bring into my house."

"Don't you fucking _dare_ talk about Rachel like that!" Chloe roared, flaring like an enraged peacock and stepping into Madsen's space, trying to push him out of her room, "maybe if you weren't such a fucking control freak, I wouldn't feel the need to be around her more!"

" _Chloe_ — _!_ " he clenched his jaw, and breathed out his frustration in one mighty exhale, "I am your step-father, I'm your _parent_. By that extension, I am responsible for taking care of you and making sure that you're safe," he then animatedly pointed toward the stairs beyond the threshold.

"So whenever you and _Rachel_ leave for days on end, and I have to console your mother who's worried sick about _you_ ," he jabbed his index finger right at the bluenette, "I can't help but feel that I have to be even more of a hard ass, since all you do is try to get yourself in trouble!"

"Oh fuck off, you expect me to trust you when all you do is give me shit!?" Chloe pushed his extended arm away, countering with a jabbing finger of her own, "That's all you do, you always treat me like shit and expect me to be nice to you—!"

A sudden shout, echoing from downstairs, interrupts the ever mounting tirade between the two, and makes them shut up with it's stern, chiding tone.

"Now y'all better quit your yappin' and come downstairs, dinner's ready!"

An ensuing moment of palpable silence, before David huffs his warning to Chloe, and tersely walks out her room and down the stairs.

Max and Kate eased themselves from the tense posture they hadn't realized they'd been holding, and look to Chloe, herself expelling her pent-up anger in harsh breaths. The punk looked to her two friends, whether out of embarrassment or a driven feeling of bitterness they weren't sure, they had no time to reflect on it as Chloe followed David's path down to the first floor.

The petite duo glanced at each other, fearing what was to come, before taking their stride out the room and down the steps. Awaiting them was the Madsen family, sitting at the dining table.

* * *

The stroganoff that sat in front of her was a bit on the stale side, but how it made up for itself in the fact that she hadn't eaten such an amount of meat in so long. Indeed, Max thought to the times back in Seattle where her family had first gotten their hands on a couple steaks after the start of the Riots, when grocery stores had their shelves cleaned for weeks on end. How her family had gone so far as to ration a few bits and pieces for dinnertime as those months went by. And as much as she was for being organic and all that, truly did nothing beat a cooked side of steak, or chicken, or even fish, with some sauce of her choice. So here, with a whole eight ounces of ground beef mixed with copious amounts of pasta and sauce, she reveled in the taste.

Taking a glance around the table yielded the same results as it did the last instance she'd done it: to her left and situated at the head of the table, Mr. Madsen burrowed into the side of mashed potatoes on his plate, never looking up except to glare at Chloe, who sat opposite to Max and down a seat. The punk had kept up her staring contest with the patriarch, idly chewing on a mouthful off her plate, completely unaware of the exasperated looks her mother was giving her. Joyce sat at the opposite head of the table, trying her hardest to not poke the elephant in the room and hoping that tonight wouldn't end in a scuffle between her family. To Joyce's left, and Max's right, sat Kate, who'd been the most invisible of them all, only speaking to sincerely thank Joyce for the meal.

Surrounding them, clenching the inner depths of their hearts, was the atmosphere of intangible tension.

"So, Max, how's school been treating you?" Joyce asks.

Max shuffles in her seat at the sudden question, "Um, it's good. Yeah, it's been alright."

"If you don't mind me asking, you're going to Blackwell, right?"

"Yes, I got enrolled on that program thing they're doing for incoming seniors," Max smiles the slightest at the memory of receiving the acceptance letter, "my parents were so happy for me, I'd thought I got lucky."

"That's good to know, congrats hun."

"Thanks," Max beamed.

"I gather Kate here's also going to Blackwell?" prompted Joyce, giving an encouraging smile to the now startled blonde next to her. Kate flushed, she'd a mouthful of stroganoff and was mid-chew, and bashfully nodded to Joyce's inquiry. Max chuckled at the sight.

"Yeah, Kate and I live in the dorms, same floor," Max supplied, "We also share photography class, but other than that, we'll sometimes meet up and study together."

"Really now?" and even as Joyce said that, Max couldn't help sneaking a glance at Chloe, still chewing on the same bite she'd taken, still staring at David to notice the conversation. Max forced herself back to talking, "Yeah, uhm—yeah. It's nice, since we don't have many friends there."

"Why, are people there giving you trouble?"

"Well, I mean, uh—"

"I know David's the head security guard there," and at the mention of his name, Madsen looked up from his near finished plate, swallowing the bite he'd taken, "If they're messing with you, all you outta do is tell him."

David cleared his throat, garnering the attention of everyone not already looking towards him, asking pointedly to Max, "Is there any problems that you've noticed at Blackwell that I haven't, Max?"

Max was entirely convinced, that it was impossible for this man to not be intimidating at everything he does.

"Well, uhm—," and Max looked to Kate, who'd kept her head down the second David spoke, and realized there stood a possibility to make their efforts worthwhile, "there's one problem that we've noticed, sir. Nathan Prescott."

David frowned, "Would it perhaps pertain to…drugs?" He kept his eyes on Max as he said this, and Caulfield felt dread suddenly clutch her heart, yet she couldn't fathom why. Perhaps she'd grown accustomed to the fact that David always let's his true emotions show, and that suspecting frown of his only etched deeper unto his face when looking to her.

Then a chuckle came from across the table.

Max glanced to the side to see Chloe snickering, whereas David eyed the bluenette like a hawk ready to strike, and Caulfield entertained the possibility that he'd really tear his step-daughter's throat out at the slightest instance.

"What's so funny, Chloe?" he spat instead.

"It's just _funny_ , y'know," she sneered, smiling from ear to ear, she didn't fear the glare he sent her way, "that you've been fighting the 'narcotic menace' oh so well, yet you gotta rely on a couple of students to actually get anything done."

"Now you listen here—"

"No no, no, _please_ , continue on your grand plan to win the hearts and minds of the poor kids," she mocked, leaning back in her seat, "I'm sure they'd be happy with you _liberating_ them from their temptations, like you've done to me."

David bit, "I wouldn't have to be so hard on you if you didn't blow your college funds on weed and booze—"

"Gee, David, have you ever wondered _why_ I've turned to drugs and booze to help me cope with living?" she bit back, snarling, "I want you to take a guess, one _good_ fucking guess as to why that is, go on, what is it?"

Either by the pleading glare that Joyce sent his way, or because he wasn't up for Chloe's bullshit, David gruffed a simple, "We're eating," and stabbing a piece of stroganoff off his plate.

"Sure, whatever you say, Sergeant Pepper."

" _Chloe_ ," her mother stressed, "That's enough. David's right, we're eating now," and the woman emphasized this by pouring a spoonful of gravy upon her mashed potatoes.

"Okay, Joyce," she coldly responded, before aggressively sliding her fork through a clump of pasta and burying the whole thing in her mouth, chewing as obnoxiously as possible. This only served to annoy the matriarch sitting next to her, who sighed.

"Chloe, for the last time, I thought I told you to stop calling me—"

"Y'know, _Joyce_? I think it's amazing, how much you've changed. I remember the times when I'd get called a freak in middle school and you'd tear the kid who said so and his parents a new one, but now, you don't even bother trying to keep— _cough_ — _David_ here from bickering at everything I do like the man child that he is."

Max felt the air start to rumble from the friction, the figurative daggers of lightning dancing around and between the three family members before her sparked with anticipation. The brunette imagined then and there, the clouds hanging over the table, and the thunder waiting to sound its mighty roar and smash the equilibrium with a chaotic glee.

"He's only doing it because he cares about you, Chloe—"

"Bullshit! The only thing he cares about is having control over someone, 'cause he's a fucking control freak!"

"Chloe, you apologize to him this instant!" for Joyce was growing tired, of Chloe or of the banter, Max wasn't sure.

"Fuck no, it's not my fault he's still "recovering" from his time massacring civilians in fucking Iraq or whatever," Chloe barked.

Max looked over to the man in question and saw him visibly _tense_. The grip on his fork was clasped with white knuckles, his jaw was set like stone and his brow arched with a boiling fury, churning against a strained force of will that kept him still. Seeing every single instance of David trying his hardest to keep from snapping placed an inkling of terror in Caulfield, so gripping the sides of her chair she curled on herself, and braced for the thunder.

"And better yet, _Joyce_ , is how you'd defend him over your own fucking daughter. Have you ever wondered how she'd feel, if her own mother just tossed her father away like he was a piece of trash, and replaced him with someone worse?"

"Chloe, _quit it_ —!" Joyce's voice grew raw and hoarse, as Chloe's words stung with a pain she'd never felt before.

"Maybe I would, if you'd tell fucking douchenozzle over there that the only respect he's getting from me is the respect of getting the _fuck_ out of my life—!"

_SLAM_

In an instant the table and everything strewn upon it was jolted from their places, as a mighty hand smacked the wooden top. Everyone, most notably Chloe, jerked from the outburst, and with a shudder the younger Price whirled out of her chair to face the molten rage of her step-father. The thickening silence was punctuated by the dim ticking of the living room clock, having been drowned out before. And slowly, very carefully, did Madsen rise from his seat, and towered over everyone around the table, never taking his glare off of Chloe.

"I know that I cannot replace your father," he spoke a bitter truth, through clenched teeth, "but I made a promise to your mother to keep you safe, and if that means I have to be hard on you, to the point where you hate me no matter what I do, then _so fucking be it_."

It was a declaration of sorts, Max parcellated. A declaration of the most painful kinds of love, one that by all intents and purposes, could better serve as a form of hate. But it stood fast and firm, much like the man before them, and it held a weight behind it that not even Chloe could topple. David hadn't taken the bait, and it showed with every passing second. Even now, Max watched as Chloe stuttered another retort, anything to get him to leave, to bite, but she found nothing.

With one last cry of anger, Chloe kicked her chair into place, and darted, stomping out of the living room and up the stairs. The resounding slam of her bedroom door upstairs was the last they heard of her, as David eased himself back into his chair, setting his elbows on the table and hanging his head between his hands with a tired sigh. Exchanging a look with the man, Joyce excused herself from the table and silently made her way up to the second floor, and Max noticed the mother idly wipe a tear from the corner of an eye.

The clock ticked its everlasting rhythm, uncaring of their turmoil.

* * *

David had set about clearing the ruined table, taking all the plates, unfinished or otherwise, then cleaning and sorting them by himself. He never told them to stay seated, but neither Max nor Kate were interested in poking the bear after his last outburst.

If she weren't so damn terrified of him, Max would've torn him a new one with how he spoke to Chloe. Yet, even then, it would still feel wrong, because try as she might, it was hard for Max to defend her friend against the very parents that know the bluenette far more than she did. It also didn't help that Chloe had been the prickly one at the table, and in some cases, it made what David did justifiable in her mind.

_Almost, at least._

Max's personal bias towards her friends was something that only Max herself held control of, and while it seemed selfish, Max reasoned that everyone held preferences and loyalties, much like how she had a presiding loyalty to Chloe and Kate.

Speaking of Kate, Max looked over to the chair on her right, observing the hunched blonde fiddle with the hem of her shirt. The black overcoat that Marsh wore hung on the back of her chair, having been shed since the start of dinnertime, leaving the girl in her long-sleeved, button-up white blouse.

"Hey," Max whispered, to which Kate nervously glanced to her before finding the imaginary crease in her sleeve more interesting, "Kate, talk to me."

The blonde anxiously darted her eyes to the kitchen beyond the table, where the both of them could see Madsen at the sink, finishing up the last of the dishes. Like he'd notice their staring, Kate ducked her eyes away from him, sitting up from her slouch.

"I feel like he hates us, Max," she nervously muttered, "before he blew up on Chloe, he was looking so...so _angrily_ at us. I'm scared of him."

Max sympathized, placing a hand upon Kate's left shoulder as an act of comfort. A closing of the cabinets from the kitchen caught her attention, and retracting her arm she watched David walk over and sit in a chair opposite to them. A mug of water, one he'd prepared without either of them noticing, was clasped in his right hand. As he took a cautious sip, Max saw the weariness in his eyes, shaded from the table light above them.

A tense pause lengthened between the three of them, no one wanted to be the first to speak. The clock over yonder did the small talk for them, ticking its silent mantra.

"I'm sorry you girls had to see that."

Max looked to the man across from her, surprised at how small he sounded, after hearing him roar previous it was bewildering in the sense.

"I—i-it's fine," the brunette tripped over her words, "We just, uhm, weren't prepared for…well, that."

He nodded, taking another sip from the mug, and it took a moment before he spoke again, "You two were with Chloe yesterday, weren't you?"

It made it easier for Max to answer when he had no malice in his voice, "I was, sir."

"Did she get…she didn't get herself hurt, did she?"

"No sir, we were by the junkyard, just to the north of town," Max watched as David nodded his head, like he'd expected such an answer, "we'd been—we were hanging out, we never did anything reckless if that's what you're asking."

David listened with rapt attention as Max continued, "I—uhm, Chloe and I hadn't seen each other in a while, so we were talking most of the time. I…don't know if Joyce told you, but I was her best friend when we were younger. My family had to leave for Seattle after…after the, uh, funeral for William."

"…I see."

"And, uhm, Kate and I," Max nodded to the blonde next to her, "we…uhm, we…"

"You what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

A steadying breath, "You know the whole incident in the girls' dorms?"

David glanced at Kate, then, "It was her room that was vandalized?"

"Yes. Thankfully I had asked her if she wanted to do a sleepover the night before, otherwise…" and Max reached out and gently grasped Kate's left hand from under the table.

David's brow furrowed, and with a cautious pitch he asked them, "That question I had asked you, Max, the one about Blackwell," he straightened himself, then perched his forearms on the table, mug now forgotten, "I want you to be honest with me now. Is there something going on that I'm not aware of, anything at all?"

It was their chance. Perhaps their only one.

"It's got a lot to do with Nathan, I'm pretty sure he's the one behind what happened to Kate, but we're not certain," she starts out slow and steady, but by the end her nervousness was creeping into her voice, "but we know he's behind what happened at that party last Friday."

"How so?" he asks, concerned.

"Because of—" stuttering, Max realized far too late she had set herself into a rock and a hard place. If she told David about the ledger, then he'd pry into how they got it, _who_ they got it from, and—

"Max?" he inquired, suspicious.

_Oh god oh god oh god—_

"We, uh…we," she fidgeted, a hand scratching a non-existent itch at the back of her neck, and panic swelled in her heart, "we uhm—"

_Fuck it, just accept the fate you've sown._

"We got a ledger. From one of the drug dealers in Arkadia. It had info on how Nathan got the drugs. That's it."

David leaned in a little closer, and Max regretted ever opening her mouth in the first place.

"Max, did the three of you put yourselves in danger to get that ledger? Did you put Chloe in danger?" he pointedly asked, leaning even more forward if it was possible, and Max could only focus on his stare. It was suddenly terrifying, how easy it was to switch his mood from calm to controlling, as his gaze choked her of words, and she froze.

"It was my fault, I'm sorry Mr. Madsen."

Max whipped her head to Kate, the blonde was looking to the man opposite of them, likely meeting his eyes with as much courage as she could muster, "I wanted to meet Chloe as a friend, I told her about my problems, and she wanted to help. I'm sorry—" Max's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

_Didn't I tell Chloe that, or is—?_

David controlled his breathing, for despite his agitation it became apparent that he didn't want another quarrel as much as they did, "I don't know what you two have been up to, but if it involves you putting Chloe in danger, then I need to know right now."

And Max gently squeezed Kate's left hand under the table, appreciative of the support. Max recounted to David, "I was in the bathroom on Monday, and Nathan came in, he was all twitchy and nervous. Chloe came in after him, and they started arguing about money or something. They got physical, Chloe shoved him and he…Nathan pulled out a gun—"

David's eyes widened the slightest, from Max's peripheral Kate turned her head, looking to her with what Max assumed to be a look of horror; to be fair, Caulfield had never told this to her.

"Chloe tried to get away, but he pushed her into a corner, and threatened her to stay away from him, I think. I was hidden the whole time, but I didn't realize it was Chloe until after he left…" Max trailed off.

"…what were they arguing about specifically? Do you remember?" David asked.

"I don't, I didn't think much of it. I was just glad to see Chloe again."

David sighed, reaching for his mug and taking a lengthy sip of his water. Setting it down, he mumbled something under his breath, then, "So from then, you were with Chloe on Tuesday—" Madsen paused, and Max affirmed, so he speared on, "and then this morning, Prescott apparently trashed your dorm room," he directed that to Kate, who meekly nodded, "and now you two met up with Chloe today, is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

David continued, "..and you obtained this ledger, saying it's proof for what, exactly?"

"I think Prescott is trying to hurt Kate, sir. He's been using what happened to her at the party to ruin her reputation, and I—we know, that Kate didn't have anything to drink besides water and a sip of wine. He had to have done something to her."

David ponders this, then, "Are you sure it's him?"

"Yes, the ledger has it—"

"Where even is the ledger?" he interrupted, exasperated.

"It's up in Chloe's room," Max stuttered, "uhm…do you want me to get it?"

He sighed again, tired this time, "No, it's fine. I think I've got a good idea of what's going on, now."

So David stood up from his seat, taking a look at his now empty mug, and hobbled his way over to the kitchen sink. Neither of the two girls moved, even as he tiredly washed the cup and placed it in the drying rack. Kate exchanged a nervous glance to Max, who offered a small, supportive smile in return. The timid blonde tried to reciprocate, but it came out crooked, and so she chose to settle her attention on that ever-nagging crease on her blouse, as David walked back over.

"We'll discuss this more tomorrow. For now, you two should get some sleep," he looked to the clock in the living room, "curfew's in effect, isn't any point to driving you two back to Blackwell. I'm sure we have those spare sleeping bags somewhere…" and mumbling the rest of what he was going to say, Madsen beckoned them to follow him.

They all went up to the second floor, David's boots trying their hardest to not drum on the floorboards as he walked into the master bedroom, searching for something. The girls turned to Chloe's door, slightly open, her room was shrouded in the lack of light. Pushing the door a ways, Max looked in to see Joyce perched on the side of the bed, idly stroking her sleeping daughter's hand, in the way Max likened to a mother holding the hand of her newborn. Chloe had a peacefulness in her slumber, that which contrasted her mother's worry-wrinkled brow. Max wondered if Chloe ever noticed these moments, if the bluenette ever thinks about how her mother truly feels about her. Caulfield thinks of her own parents then, and all the unspoken, unnoticed feelings of worry they must have for her, and her heart aches. Looking to them, Joyce lightened her creases, and slowly stood up to let Chloe rest.

Silently walking over, the elder Price eased the door back to near shut, and then brought Max into a motherly hug, catching the brunette by surprise.

"Thank you, Max. For being there for her."

And overcome with a sudden spur of emotion, Max hugged back, as tight as she dared to show her second mother she understood, "Of course, Joyce."

In the perch of Joyce's shoulder, Max looked to Kate, standing aside, politely looking away, not wanting to intrude. That is, until Joyce released Max, and turned to sweep the petite girl into an embrace of her own, a slight ' _oh!_ ' escaped from Kate as she was smothered in the woman's arms.

"Don't think I'd forget you, dear. I'm so glad you're here for my Chloe," Joyce whispered, so soft and sincere, it made tears swell in Marsh's eyes and her grip also tighten in acknowledgement.

David made himself known, carrying a couple rolled up sleeping bags slung under one arm, and two spare pillows in the other. Handing them to the girls, he bid them goodnight, and with Joyce in hand they retired to their bedroom. Max and Kate did the same, sneaking into Chloe's room and setting themselves up on the rug just before her bed.

That night, Max dreamed of a hollow, lonely room, where the cold bit into skin, and the lights were bright and dulled the lines of its ceiling.

* * *

A/N - It is with the sincerest respects that I address this part as my own response to however many writers who have, whether unintentionally or by their own design, characterized David as an absolutely horrible father figure. In these writers' defense, the canon characterization that was given to David by DONTNOD was not in any way pleasant, yet even then does it come off, in my opinion, as forced or sometimes out-of-line, even for a man of his background.

For what irks me the most is that David, and many men much like him, would most likely not be keen to the idea of violence, for indeed would it only serve to remind them of what they experienced in their time in the Armed Forces, should they have served during the War on Terror in the Middle East.

I refer to the experience of Sebastian Junger, journalist and writer that spent time with fellow U.S. servicemen based in the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan, on those who have first-hand experience with modern warfare; "When men say they miss combat, it's not that they actually miss getting shot—you'd have to be deranged—it's that they miss being in a world where everything is important and nothing is taken for granted. They miss being in a world where human relations are entirely governed by whether you can trust the other person with your life." It is this mindset, that I assert David would truly maintain as he adjusts to the normality of civilian life, and ultimately is what makes him snap at Chloe's bitter remark towards his tour of duty.

It is with the steadfast notion, that his love does not have anything to do with how he feels about whoever it is given to. All that matters to David in this case, is that if the time does come, that he would _willingly, without question, lay down his life_ for the people that he loves, and would do so regardless of whether he may be on good terms with them. As much as he would do anything to protect his loving wife, Joyce, so too would he do anything to protect and care for Chloe, even despite her showing David nothing but contempt over the death of her biological father, William.

Men like David, more often than not, _do not exist_ like what they are made out to be by both DONTNOD and many a civilian writer, and I say this with the consideration that while there may exist veterans who are indeed that traumatized after returning from their time overseas, it simply cannot be that every veteran is as prone to violence as Chloe has made David out to be. It is because of this reasoning, that instead of jumping onto the bandwagon of hating David because he is seen as a paranoid, short-tempered man, rather do I appeal to what David would ultimately act on when it comes to his family: a form of love that cares not for feelings, but instead cares about that mutual trust between itself and another's.


	11. Watson and Goliath

"A society in which men and women are governed by belief in an enduring moral order, by a strong sense of right and wrong, by personal convictions of justice and honour, will be a good society." - Russell Kirk

* * *

It wasn't the sun's rays that woke Juliet, though she would have much prefered that. She supposed that it wasn't a very grand feeling to be woken up before she was ready, but considering she had a big day ahead of her, she figured it all the better.

Though, as to why Dana had decided to be extra today and callously rip her favorite blanket off her and leave her freezing in nothing but pajamas, she was too cranky to understand.

"Rise and shine Jules, come on, let's get this day going!"

Ugh, cheeriness at seven o'clock. Definitely not her kind of thing to wake up to.

"Come on, get up, we're gonna miss out on the gathering in the lounge—" and Dana opened the blinds to full effect, the added light blinded the still sleepy Juliet, so she ducked her head back into her soft, comforting pillow.

"Jus' phive moh minuhhs."

Watson heard the shuffling of feet toward her closet, the slight _twang_ as clothes were taken from hangars and pulled from drawers, then a chiding, "Jules, come on, we're gonna be late if you keep this up."

Finally, she turned from the blissful reaches of slumber, peeking with a bleary, half-opened gaze to her friend, standing over her with an entire outfit in her arms.

"Late for what—?"

"For the gathering, duh," Dana spoke like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "you got my text about it last night, didn't you?"

Juliet slowly looked over to her desk, where her phone sat, having been charging all night and oblivious to her when she'd slept. Driven by a half-charged state of need, Watson reached out an arm and hoped by some miracle, some force of nature would levitate her phone into her hand and allow her to stay on the soft mattress.

The Divine must hate her today, for they didn't even try to help her in her plight.

Dana sighed and set the clothes down at the end of the bed, "Look, just get up and get dressed. You know where the lounge is, I'll meet you there."

Footsteps made their way to the door, then came a muttering, ' _Don't make me wake you up again,_ ' as the door closed, leaving her to slowly blink out the grime from her eyes.

So with a groan, Juliet decided it to be futile, and forced herself out of bed. She switched from night garments to the outfit Dana had set up for her: a pair of jeans topped with a light grey shirt and her leather jacket. Slipping on her pair of worn tennis shoes, the reporter gave herself a once-over with the small framed mirror next to her door before she walked out into the hall.

A bustle came to and from the bathroom, as the other dorm members took their turns in the showers. A small group of unfamiliar faces had formed just outside the shower door awaiting their turns. As she walked closer, Juliet realized they were girls from the first floor, having trekked up the stairs and formed a line along the wall next to the bathroom door. She edged closer, curiosity piqued, and asked the stranger closest to her, a fair-skinned brunette with short, very curly, chocolate-brown hair—

"Hey, what's goin' on here?"

Looking up from her phone, the girl muttered, "Showers are closed off on the first floor, one of the pipes got damaged. The janitor's working on it, while the rest of us have to go up here," and she gestured to the four others with her, all tiredly occupying themselves with their smartphones, a couple tapping toes with impatience, "…so, uh, yeah. Kinda sucks."

Juliet nodded, "Ah, well, good luck to you then, uhm..."

"Olivia, I'm Olivia," the girl said, and with a gentle wave of the hand did she bid Juliet a farewell. Watson reciprocated, and left her be, not noticing the kind brunette being beckoned by her peers, suddenly spurred by whatever they'd found on their phones.

Juliet looked from the commotion to the rooms on the opposite side of the hall, particularly to Room _222_ , now with caution tape crisscrossed upon its door. With a forlorn sigh she looked away, and marched her way to the stairs, trying not to let the worry drown her again.

_She's fine, just focus on getting to the lounge. It'll be worth it, soon._

The bronze-brunette made her way down the two flights of steps, hearing some commotion as she opened the door at the bottom of the stairs. It came from her right, and walking towards the noise brought her to a door with a plaque next to it, the inscription _TV LOUNGE_ in perfect white letters spelled out her destination.

Watson made her way into the lounge, immediately spotting Dana and the rest of her friends chilling at a large round table in the middle of the room. Off to the side, near the couple of vending machines and some spare tables with chairs, were Chase's minions, Taylor Christensen and Courtney Wagner. They paid Juliet no mind as she made her way over to her group, taking a seat in between Brooke and an animated Stella, going on about some story from childhood before abruptly noticing her.

"Oh shit, the gang's all here," Stella smiled, giving the bronze-brunette a mighty clap upon the shoulder, jostling her completely awake with a yelp, "Mornin' Juliet!"

"Christ, man, gimme a warning next time—" Watson sputtered indignantly as the others giggled at her, with a huff she reciprocated, "good morning to you too."

Alyssa greeted her with a good morning as well, idly chewing on a protein bar clasped in her hand as Brooke hummed to Juliet's left, eyes not straying from the text conversation in her lap.

"Figured we'd do something together, all of us," explained Dana, and her bright pink top with a faded pair of jeans glowed from the rays of light that shone from a window on one end of the room, this being the only source of light and by extension making Dana the brightest of the group, "After all, today's the big day."

"You make it sound like I'm gonna win the jackpot or something."

"With whatever the Prescotts are gonna give you after it all goes down, I'm sure it'll be something massive though."

A shrug, Juliet wasn't sure how far this thing would actually go, but she hoped, oh, she hoped—

"Y'know, that reminds me, I had a relative who once won the lottery," Stella said as she pulled her backpack off the floor, fishing out her water bottle for a swig, "my uncle on my dad's side, Wilhelm, he'd gotten lucky and won some fifteen thousand dollars from a spare lottery ticket."

A whistle from Dana, a huff of surprise from Juliet.

"Really?" asked Alyssa.

"Yeah. It was pretty cool, but then the crisis hit right after, and that ticket of his meant nothing once the lottery center was burned to the ground. The place was one of many to get looted and torched once the Riots kicked off."

"Damn, that sucks," Dana whispered, the others nodded their heads in agreement. Yet Stella chuckled, and indeed, there grew a sense of anticipation as they beheld their friend.

"Y'know, I was visiting him with my family when he'd gotten it, so when he came back all mad an' shit, my dad got worried that something was up. My uncle was living in one of those acre homes in the suburbs way out from Portland, the ones with the big gates on one side. I kid you not, not even ten minutes after he'd gotten back, some truck smashed through the gate and blew right into my uncle's truck, looked like something out of an action movie," Stella narrated, "we went over to see what happened, and the guy who did it was _drunk_ off his mind. My dad had to hold my uncle back from killing him, 'least until the police arrived."

"Holy shit man," Juliet whispered.

"I know, right? We left not long after that. I haven't seen my uncle since then, but we get a letter from time to time, so I imagine he's still alive."

"Guys."

The unexpectedness of Brooke's voice turned everyone's heads towards her, and they observed the Filipina looking down at her phone with an unbefitting anxiousness.

"Look at this," turning her phone to the lot of them, they edged in to stare at what looked to be the Blackwell Academy's news page. What took up most of the screen was the newest article posted by Juliet the evening before, and among other things were there an exceptional amount of comments and shares on other social media sites.

"So it begins," Alyssa murmured, taking the last bite of her protein bar and crumpling the wrapper in her hand. Juliet audibly gulped, Dana looked at the comments with a myriad of emotions on her face, Stella raised her eyebrows and chuckled at the more colorful remarks left by other students. Brooke placed her phone on the table, and with a not-so-subtle cough she beckoned their attention once more, "We're not the only ones who've noticed."

As one, they looked to the only other people in the lounge, and an irate Courtney and Taylor stood glaring at them, the phones in their hands presented the source of their passive hostility towards the five. Juliet likened them in that moment to reactive puppets of their own vices, strung to act and carry themselves to the whim of their puppet queen.

_Where the hell was Chase anyways?_

The door to the outer realm opened then, and on cue, Victoria stepped into the room. Her entire presence brought ice cold dread to them, so deadly to the touch and with a promise of assured destruction. Juliet tensed as Chase singled her out, glaring this promise, and beckoning her puppets to her side with a snap of the fingers. They obeyed instantly, not wanting to tempt their queen's wrath. And the three nobles made their way to the opposite end of the table, choosing to stand and glower at Juliet's group opposing them.

"Hello, Watson," Victoria greeted, coldly. A slithering smile curled her lips.

_It begins._

"Hi," Juliet deadpanned, her brow furrowed the slightest.

The royal blonde cocked her head, as if innocently concerned, "You seem pretty upset, is something the matter?"

The force of her heartbeat kept Juliet silent and still, the thrumming thunder residing within peaking her anxiety and leaving her on edge.

"Do pardon me, then," Chase continued, "I didn't mean to hurt your fragile state of mind. It's just...I'm _curious_. You know you didn't have to be a spineless whore and attack our club because you're still hurt over being kicked out, and yet, here we are."

It takes everything within the reporter not to raise her voice, to not give the bitch the satisfaction of getting under her skin, "I don't give a damn about your club."

"Sure as hell doesn't seem like it, what with how you're pinning everything on Nathan," Chase countered, "and don't give me that pitiful excuse of, ' _but he's the rich kid!_ ' because I know you've got better reasons than that, even if you hide behind that piss-poor attempt of non-biased reporting."

"I don't have to explain shit, especially to the likes of you," Watson snarled.

The Queen chuckled then, as if struck by genuine amusement, "My, does someone feel empowered because of their little friends?" and then came the smirk, "I bet you wouldn't be saying such _bold_ and _prideful_ words if we were having a more private discussion."

"You think you're going to change my mind and let your boy-toy get away with something like this? Take your money and your bullshit and fuck off, Victoria."

The queen did not fuck off. Instead she frowned, greedy emerald eyes directed their full force to Juliet's equally jaded green counterparts. By now, everyone was tense with a burning palpitation to attack, the slightest indication by the two could set off a potential brawl if they dared.

"It's a shame you're not keen enough to know that Nathan and I aren't seeing each other. I suppose it's to be expected, coming from you, so I understand—"

_Fuck you too, bitch._

"—regardless, I'm not doing this to make you feel bad for your god-awful reporting, which I should be. I'm here to tell you to shut this down while you still can."

It sounded so sincere, so genuine and heartfelt. She couldn't help it: Juliet snorted, holding a hand to her mouth to keep from outright giggling with disbelief. Shoulders shuddered from the hysterics, and amongst Watson her fellow friends looked to her with slight concern.

She righted herself to sneer at Victoria's stone-cold grimace, "I don't give a fuck what you think, I'm not taking that shit down."

"I'm being serious," the queen frostily spoke, "there's still some time left before Nathan sends his hounds after you. Do you have even the slightest idea what they'll do to you, Watson?" Chase placed both hands upon the table, leaning close to the glaring reporter across from her, "Not only will they tear you apart, they'll tear apart everyone you love and care for. No one will be spared."

Underneath the table, unseen to anyone, Juliet's hands clenched into trembling fists.

"But there's more to this than what Nathan's been doing at his parties," Victoria prodded, giving a self-deserved smirk as Juliet's frown deepened, "This is about _Marsh_ , isn't it?"

The bronze-brunette then shot up from her seat, and got up in Chase's face, "You're god-damn right it is—"

"So then what, you think she's being bullied?" the pixie-blonde interrupted, feigning concern, "you think Nathan's tormenting her for being a spineless coward, much like yourself? How touching, the mice are banding together."

"As if you didn't torment her as much as him," Watson bit back, "that's the thing about snakes like you, you have no heart, you can _never_ have a heart, no matter what you do. It's surprising you even try."

That haughty grimace deepened, "It's not my fault that you're a fucking joke. Even now, after asking you to save yourself and your friends, you'd still rather whine of your bias and shove the blame onto others" and Victoria smirked, venomous and cocky, "I bet you haven't even seen Kate all this time, haven't you? Tell me, dear Watson, do you know how easy it was to express to poor, little Kate how _sorry_ I was for what happened to her? You should've been there, it was a wonderful sight."

Victoria could see the instant of the snap, the widening of angry eyes, the curling of brows, snarling, gnashing white teeth. Watson took the bait. It felt wondrous and horrible at the same time.

" _You fucking—!_ " and the others surrounding Watson rose up as one, each taking hold of the girl's arms to keep her from leaping across the table, and it was followed by a chorus of whispering placations into the fiery brunette to calm her down.

So Victoria looked on, having lost her triumphant smirk. Seeing the genuine fire in her opponent's eyes, seeing it burn with trembling fury, then die out so pitifully as Watson stopped resisting her friends' arms, a sudden weight in Victoria's cold heart made itself known. Guilt, she deduced. She pushed it down with a huff.

For a few seconds, no one moved, no one spoke.

"Max is taking care of her."

"What?" Watson rasped.

"Caulfield, the quiet one," Chase continued, "she's taking care of Kate. I saw it myself. She's being a far better person right now than either of us have been," and that grimace was back, as emerald green eyes glared forlornly down at the table, "we should be helping her, but instead we're fighting each other."

"Since when did you care about Kate?" Juliet barbed, "After all the shit you put her through, all the hate you gave her—"

"I do _not_ hate her!" she yelled, stuttering Juliet's rant, "contrary to popular belief and your _bullshit_ sources, I've done more for Marsh than you, than any of you—I gave her a reason to stand up for herself when she'd rather roll over and fucking give up, because that's all you ever let her think was right!"

Stirred into a tirade, Chase speared an accusing finger Juliet's way, "You think you can accuse me of being hurtful when you've also done _nothing_ to help her, you fucking hypocrite. Instead of being the great friend you claim to be, you decide to make up a bunch of bullshit about Nathan because what, he's the easiest to pin the blame on? And then you don't even have the fucking empathy to bother checking up on your own friend—"

"I'm not getting lectured by the likes of _you_ , Victoria," Dana stood ever so slightly higher than Chase and put such height to good use, glaring at the blonde, "especially since it was _you_ who drove Kate into feeling so dissociated from everyone else. Saying that you were helping her _'stand up for herself,'_ doesn't excuse you from being a miserable bitch to her!"

"Oh, and you did any better?" Chase indignantly retorted.

Dana fumed, "I treated her like a human being, unlike _you_."

"You treated her like a fucking porcelain doll, like she couldn't help herself," the Queen coldly remarked, "and now you're mad at me because you can't blame yourselves."

"Did you even read the fucking article?" Juliet countered, "this is about what Prescott's been doing at those parties, all the drugs he buys—we all know he brings all kinds of shit, we know did _something_ to Kate, and yet what did _you_ do to help her? Hmm? What did you do, Victoria?"

Taylor and Courtney side-eyed their leader with concern as she shivered the slightest, her icy exterior melting into a sudden boiling aggravation, yet Victoria clamped down the insult on the tip of her tongue, "This is why I'm telling you now, get rid of your mistake, and take it down. Or else…"

"Or else what?" Juliet barked, indignant.

"Or else I can't help you from Nathan."

There was something in the way Chase spoke those words, a form of desperate sincerity, bordering on an emotion they'd never seen her with. The kind they'd likened such fervor to themselves, for it was never considered that the nobility up above had the ability to express such… _concern_ , over one not of their own. It was so foreign to the girls in this regard, that they didn't lash out at Victoria.

At least, not until they overcame their shock.

"Oh piss off, _verdammte Hure!_ " a mighty cry from Stella stunned everyone from their reverie, "You're only saying that 'cause you'll be all alone when Prescott gets tossed in jail where he belongs, so shove it up your ass!"

"Back off Victoria, unless you know what's good for you and your friends," Dana countered as well—

"You will not stand between us and assured destiny," Alyssa bellowed, low and determined. She stood proudly, with crossed arms and a straight-edge brow she made her challenge known.

The features on Chase's perfect face morphed into agitation, a twitching of the eye was all she had for their declarations. A lengthy pause as they watched the turmoil within her settle behind a stoic mask.

Then, with venom, she finally said, "Alright, then. I won't stop you."

And with a grace unlike her words, Victoria turned, and her aides followed her away and swiftly out the lounge, leaving the girls in silence. Juliet breathed a sigh of relief as she sat back down in her chair.

"…we did it."

Hearty chuckles resounded, and Juliet's words were repeated in choppy unison, "We did it!"

"Hell yeah! We kicked her ass!" energized from their scaring off the queen bitch, Stella gave Juliet's back a mighty _smack_ , once again earning a yelp as Watson fumbled off her chair from the force. Immediately did the others cackle at the sight, as an annoyed Juliet tried to catch the cackling ebony brunette, who'd resorted to using Alyssa as an impromptu shield.

* * *

Stepping into her second period History class brought with it a sense of anticipation, somewhere between dreadful and exhilarating. The students already seated were abuzz with chatter. When passing the clusters of them gathered at desks, Juliet noted with a sense of relief that they were too focused on the topic of discussion to notice her as she slumped into her seat at the fourth table in the back.

Since she'd first stepped into the bustle of the morning classes, it was like the very air had changed. It did not carry the cold morning breeze as prominently as it did before, rather it seemed like the whole school was jarred from an intangible slumber, lifted from its stone cold bed and burning with the warmth of some feeling, some pervading sense of—

_Justice. Pure, untainted justice._

So Juliet smirked to herself, listening as a resounding cackle erupted from a trio of students up to the front of the class. From the door, Dana strutted her way in, giving a cheery hello to some fellow cheerleaders sitting at a nearby table before homing in on the reporter. With a glistening grin, Dana greeted her bestie, and sat in the chair next to her, leaning forward so that her elbows rested upon her thighs.

"It's like the whole school is alive, isn't it?" the auburnette remarked, eyes panning to the many conversations in the room.

"Yeah, it is. I'm surprised I haven't been called up by the big rat in his swivel chair yet," Watson pondered, "maybe the secretary doesn't care enough to tell him."

"You think she wouldn't, with something like this?"

"Not likely, but you know how she is. She doesn't even speak words, only grunts."

Dana snickered at that, yet her laughter fell short when she noticed something. Juliet traced her friend's gaze, and eyed a black-haired boy, sitting at the table just beyond them, not engaged in conversation, and most notably, looking awfully upset. It was subtle, but Watson could see the little twitches of his brow, like a boiling agitation brewed under his neutral expression. He was gripping his phone tightly, and whatever was displayed on its screen seemed to be the source of his anger.

Juliet sifted through her memory, and realized the boy was Prescott's right hand man in the Internationale, Carl Markson. Carl had been a part of the Blackwell Speech and Debate club before it was disbanded from a lack of funds, but from the few pieces she had to write about his speeches, Juliet knew she wouldn't like him. He was like a snake, if she had to give description of him: a snake who'd slither into friendships he doesn't care for and squeeze the life out of the poor people within them, either by feigning sabotage or making them turn on one another.

Juliet imagined that the kind of people like him needed at least some form of friendship not entirely driven by the desire to subvert, and it was in the Internationale that he must've found his purpose. It seemed fitting that Markson and Prescott were the best of friends, fellow snakes and rabid dogs banding together to torment the rest of the populace.

From the intercom near the door, came the chime of two rings of the bell, before the announcement rung out through the building, and the students dimmed in their chatter to listen—

_'Nathan Prescott, please head to the Principal's office. Nathan Prescott, please head to the Principal's office, thank you.'_

The intercom shut off with a _clunk_ , and immediately the banter rose to a sweltering crescendo, as Juliet looked from the door to Markson, seeing him typing furiously. A pause in his motion, as Carl read whatever reply he'd gotten, before he abruptly stood and walked out of the classroom, a few gazes following him as he left.

Watson and Ward spared a glance to each other, not liking the feeling of discomfort swell in their hearts. Choosing now to attempt fishing her notebook out of her satchel, Juliet thought of the possibility that maybe it wasn't as clear cut as the announcement had made it look.

_What if Wells is in cahoots with Nathan, and they're planning something?_

Juliet couldn't shelf the possibility. Sure, she'd made the first move, but how they'd respond is another thing entirely. For all she imagined, Juliet pictured the two of them, Wells the barking, rabid dog foaming at the mouth with the rancid aftertaste of liquor, with a sneering Nathan holding the mutt on a chain leash, taunting, daring her to give him the slightest justification to turn the hound loose. Just thinking of what lied beyond the halls after class made her shiver.

"Uhm, Dana?"

"Hm?" Ward turned from her etching into the notebook in front of her.

"Have the others said anything?"

Dana fished out her smartphone from her pocket, and Juliet acutely wished she'd bring her phone with her to class more often. Dana fiddled to the group chat, scrolling to the bottom.

"Nothing much, just Brooke going off again about how she misses Warren."

"…huh."

"Stella's asking if Brooke's gonna break into the nurse's office…heh, Brooke says she might if she doesn't get a text from him."

Juliet chuckled, trailing off with a nervous sigh, sometime since she'd gotten the habit of anxiously bouncing her leg. Try as she might, she couldn't get rid of that pervading noise in her head, running on about what Victoria had said to her.

What if she _was_ shirking away from checking up on Kate?

A part of her says it's not true, that it cannot be true: she'd just assumed someone who was friends with Kate was being there for her in Juliet's stead. Sure, she might not remember much of this Max character, but whoever the quiet girl was, she definitely didn't seem like the kind to fall in rank with the queen and her puppets. Rationalizing this, her hatred towards Chase and her nobility surged, damn them for placing these doubts in her head.

_Fucking vipers, all of them._

But doubt crept once again, taunting and uncertain. What if Max was not what she seemed? It stuck out to her when Victoria mentioned that Max was taking care of Kate. How the hell did Victoria know about Max taking care of her? The queen wasn't there to see the incident first-hand, Juliet was sure of that. Is Max actually a friend of Victoria's, and is just keeping an eye on Kate to make sure that Chase doesn't get blamed for assisted suicide or something?

_What if Max is secretly friends with not only Victoria, but also Prescott?_

These questions twisted the wringing knot in her stomach, and the nervous bouncing in her leg grew prominently faster and more excessive, but she didn't care, she needed answers to these damn questions—

Noticing the inner turmoil, Dana placed a firm hand on her friend's knee, the shaking stopped, and she beckoned to Juliet, "Relax, Jules. It's going to be okay," patting her knee with a supportive smile, Dana turned back to her notebook.

The teacher made himself known after being five minutes late, a fat busybody by the name of Mr. Bowman, dubbed by the student populace as "Boomer Bowman" for his eccentric views on everything and anything one could think of. Immediately did his voice carry out and single-handedly drown out the chorus of chatting, like the echo of a horn localized within the off white walls of the room.

"Goo~od Morning, ladies and gents! I hope you all did the homework last night, 'cause we got a lesson building off of that to start up today," he took no notice as the class went abruptly silent, shuffling the drawers of his desk space to pull out a hefty stack of packets, "Today's lesson will be about the 1500's Peasant's Revolt in the Holy Roman Empire—"

As the man busied himself with passing out the packets, Juliet busied herself by desperately searching for the assignment she was dubiously certain she'd completed, with Dana playfully snickering at her friend as she sifted through the haphazardly placed papers in her bag.

"S'matter Jules, you missing somethin'?" Dana quipped, earning her a half-hearted smack to the leg as she started cackling.

"I don't see _you_ stressing over this shit, did you do it?"

"Nah."

Juliet looked at Dana like as if she'd sprouted a second head.

"Jules, you think he cares? Look," and as she gestured, Mr. Bowman came swaggering over to their table, with a smile he placed two packets down and immediately weaved his way up front, toward the projector.

Juliet shook her head free of the frustration, taking a packet and resting her head in one hand.

"Just take it easy. Once Wells calls for us, then we'll deal with it. Until then, we sit back and we wait," Dana whispered to her, the class had grown quiet as the lesson was about to start.

A sigh, then with a resigned tone, "Right, alright."

* * *

Her stomach growled again, but this time it was with a shared frustration, as Juliet looked up at the blackboard perched above the kitchen, where cooks busied themselves with whatever it took to prepare such mediocre dishes the school provides. In bright yellow chalk, taking up the whole of the section designated for announcements, was a decree that meat would be rationed from three servings to one.

_So the rumors were true._

Word had gone around within the hour that a group of rats had managed to sneak into the meat locker beyond the kitchen and get their grubby, nasty paws on some of the produce, meaning that instead of receiving a mouthwatering quarter-tray's worth of cooked steak, every kid ushered into the lunch line was served with a dollop of boiled chicken, some fresh, some still dry from being hurriedly tossed into the ovens.

How there wasn't some violation of the health policy was currently beyond Juliet's comprehension.

Momentarily wincing as the dollop of meat was plopped onto her tray, Juliet hastily exited the line, stopping at the condiments booth to add some ketchup for her dash of French fries, before making her way over to the tables. Her friends have taken their favorite spot, a larger table farthest from the entrance, away from the inevitable stampede that will occur once lunch period ends.

Watson took her spot next to Dana on her left, who sat poking the few sweet peas remaining on her tray with a plastic fork, and Alyssa on her right, not even bothering with a school lunch and instead chewing on another protein bar. Brooke, being the smarter of the lot, had decided to pack a lunch composed of some chips and plain sandwiches. Stella sat at the farthest to the right, fiddling with the wrapper around her plastic cutlery, eyeing the Asian girl's lunch next to her with a palpable envy. Juliet couldn't help but agree to Stella's plight—those peanut butter and jelly slabs looked far more delectable than cold, dried chicken.

Surrounding them was the cacophony of chatter, as almost the entire student populace lamented to their fellow peers about their day, about the god awful sustenance they'd been served. Juliet noted with a hopeful glee that the primary topic of discussion was still about Prescott and his schemes, and it brought a renewed sense of assured justification. Her doubts plagued her mind, but she had yet to be called up by Wells, and Prescott hadn't shown his face at all today, probably cowering from the fear of being scorned.

Juliet loved democracy.

"They're still keeping Warren from leaving the nurse's office."

Eyes turned to Brooke, who was looking at her phone with a disheartened glare, too tired to convey feeling, "They let some friend of his drop off his lunch, but they won't let anyone else in to see him."

"You alright, Brooke?" Stella asked her, laid back.

"It's just…it's just bullshit," she hissed, "They let some guy in who he probably doesn't know that well, but even though I've known him for _years_ , whenever _I_ try they're like, 'Sorry miss, he's still recovering, we can't have any disruptions,' like I'm gonna fucking poke his eye out or something."

"That _is_ kinda sus'," Dana agreed.

"I bet they think you're gonna get frisky with 'im," Stella teased with a wiggle of her eyebrows, earning her a flustered glare, the brunette cackled as she was lightly smacked in the arm by Brooke.

"Ey-ey-ey, chill! I'm playin'!" she cackled, as the Filipina only huffed her apology and turned to eating her sandwiches, embarrassed.

"That is weird, though," remarked Juliet, dabbing a French fry into ketchup, "How's he gonna get those detention hours out of the way if they keep him locked up there?"

"Because it's bullshit?" asked Alyssa.

"It's school bullshit," piped Stella.

"It's bureaucratic, academic bullshit," Brooke deadpanned.

"There it is!"

Juliet savored the tang of ketchup and fried potatoes and the comfort of her friends, trying to keep those nerve-wracking thoughts out of her head. There was that creeping feeling, the one that someone would feel as a child knowing full well they'd be scolded by their parents, the kind of seeing the red failure markings painted onto a test like it was the scene of a homicide. It surrounded her being and suddenly she felt conscious of the vibe she was giving off. The others didn't pay her much mind though, they're too busy dealing with their hunger to worry about her.

A sigh, a shake of the head in the hopes it'd clear her mind.

_I'm gonna get a headache at this rate._

Unbeknownst to the lot of them, through the haze of students the double-door entrance to the cafeteria opened, and a notable number of students walked into the cafeteria, most notable was the closeness of the mass around one particular figure. They didn't bother with getting into the lunch line, rather they stalked their way towards the other end of the tables, towards their target.

It was Alyssa who first saw them, who stopped chewing on her bar and instinctually clenched the wrapper in a tight fist.

"Uh, Alyssa? You good…?" Stella asked, stopped mid-rant about some story involving her grandfather.

"They're here."

"Who's here—" Juliet followed Anderson's eyes to the hounds approaching them and felt her heart stop, immediately gripping the table to shift herself towards them. Confused looks from the others brought the same conclusion as one by one, they eyed the sprawling members of Prescott's Internationale. The hounds circled their table, eyeing them with a predatory glint and standing haughty over them, with fake smiles on their faces. The manifestation of dread appeared in the flesh, sporting a smirk of his own and looking laxed in his red letterman jacket.

"Hello, ladies."

They all tensed at the sarcastic pitch, watching as he and a few cohorts take a seat opposite to them.

"I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time. I just want to make this quick before I go."

Juliet counted what looked to be about twenty of them, all male, all bigger and stronger than her. If this were to go south, the only ones that could put up a fight would likely be Alyssa and Dana, but with their numbers, it wouldn't matter.

_We're right in his trap._

"Now look, Juliet," Nathan tilted his head back, uncaring, "I don't give a fuck where this is coming from, to be honest. If you just wanted to get back at me, you should have just made it between you and me and no one else."

He leaned in, tilting his head down, his darkened eyes leered at her from beneath his brow, "But since you wanted to make life difficult for the both of us, I'm going to have to fix it."

_Fuck this._

"Fix what, your mistakes, or your lack of dignity?" she fired at him and watched his eye twitch with a prideful glee.

"Delete the article in the next hour. If I don't see that shit gone, then I'm going to have to do something that you don't want me to do. I'm sure you're smart enough to know what that means."

"Threatening to beat me up won't get you what you want," she defiantly glared.

"Who said I was talking about you?" he smirked, and so did the other boys surrounding them, and Juliet felt the fear creep under her skin with a shudder. The rest of her friends sat hunched, awaiting the moment of terror.

_Don't give in._

"You keep them out of this, Prescott. It's all my work, it's all _my_ doing, not theirs."

"That's the thing, Watson. You had your chance to make it personal, but as you can see," he gestured to the surrounding sea of unsuspecting students, "you've chosen what you wanted, _you_ have chosen their fate," and those eyes, blue and sharp, held her tongue with their fire, with their maddening appeal, "and since you have forced my hand, I can do nothing but follow through."

He really would let his hounds tear them apart, here and now. Wouldn't he? She had expected a reaction, but not something of this magnitude, of this severity. It was an unpredictable situation with an even more unpredictable outcome.

_It's a bluff. It's a threat. It's a promise. Make your move._

The eyes of the prince, cold and indifferent, looked to her, awaiting.

"...one condition."

"What?" he demanded.

She glared him down, "I'll do it, but on one condition."

He eyed her, disbelieving. Then, with a smirk, he raised an eyebrow, "That so? And what would that be?"

Juliet leaned herself as forward as she could, as close to him as possible. He made no move to retreat, indifferent to her rage.

"I want you to do me the favor of sucking _my fat fucking nuts_ ," she rasped, fiery and defiant.

No one moved, no one spoke.

Nathan wheezed.

With a clenched jaw and a reddening face, he wheezed, chortling. He held himself up with an arm on the table and laughed so terribly. The boys around him started chuckling as well, low and terrifying. Strung in the hysterics, Juliet also began laughing, and only the rest of her group held still, half worried-half fearful of this infectious laughter.

Nathan's guffaws reached a high peak, and he held a wide, liberating smile on his face, looking genuinely like he was going to pass out from the strain.

With a dramatic swing of the arm, he slammed his fist down hard, silencing the table. Shocked, the droning of the cafeteria chatter died down as everyone looked to the commotion.

The silence was screaming into Juliet's ears.

"Within the next hour, _bitch_ ," Nathan hissed, cold and deadly, "or I will make you regret ever fucking with me."

Standing, he nodded to his boys for the door, and they wasted no time in following his pace, some that had surrounded the girls slightly shoved them against the table, earning heated glares to the backs of retreating heads. They were out the cafeteria within seconds, as soon as the double-doors clanked shut the populace were alive with whispers.

Juliet slumped in her chair, scared out of her wits and close to crying. A trembling hand ran through her bronze bangs.

_Fuck, that was tense—_

With a huff, Alyssa stumbled from her seat to throw the wrapper away. Stella took a shaky sip from her water bottle, gaze not straying from the table. Brooke was darting her eyes, a little frantic over the many glances sent their way by the strangers surrounding them.

Dana was upset, and finished her tray. Shoving the plastic piece aside, she sighed, long and tired.

"We should go."

Immediately did Stella and Brooke agree, getting their backpacks from underneath their seats, while Juliet just mumbled to herself, being gently encouraged by the auburnette to get her stuff packed. Alyssa returned to the table confused, "What's going on?"

"We're leaving," Dana repeated, "there's no point staying here."

Sparing a glance to the chatter returning full force, Alyssa complied, slinging her thick jacket over her shoulder and helping Stella with her empty tray. They hurriedly rushed to the doors, and Juliet looked back to the table, still thrown off by what happened, by what was assured would happen. Only then did she notice something unfamiliar. On the wall that separated the cafeteria and the hallway outside, there were three openings near the top, in one of them was an object she couldn't place, looking like it was sparking excessively. She didn't have the time to recognize it though, before a sudden, distinct whistling sounded and the projectile shot forth, zooming across the room and landing on the ground beneath their table.

"What the—?"

**_BOOM_ **

The thunderous report of the object was followed by the bedazzling of colors and horrified screams, as the apparent firecracker exploded under the empty table. The girls, shaken from the noise, beat it to the double doors and stepped aside as the rest of their peers stampeded their way out of the now smoking space.

* * *

A/N - " _verdammte Hure_ " - _German_ , "[you] damn whore/bitch"


	12. Dunkelkammer

"You will live to see man-made horrors beyond your comprehension." - Nikola Tesla

* * *

Max blinked the morning blurs from her eyes. In the dark space of the bedroom, there existed the comforting hues of the early morning, where the sun had yet to perch itself over the mountaintop of the east, and thus basked the entirety of Arkadia in a faded shade of morning blue. From her spot on the cold wooden floor, she could see this bluish light coming from the window, bringing shapes and colors to the shadows surrounding her. Turning her head, she let her eyes adjust to the faint brightness reflecting on the sleeping bag next to her, to the mop of messy blonde hair lying near the front of the bed.

And Max watched, solemnly. She did not want to move, she did not want to waste these tranquil moments. She harks so vividly back to those past memories of Seattle, where she'd be awake in the first stretch of the morning. Where the sky would transcend into a palette of colors, faded and beautiful, stretching as far as the eye could see. It reminded her of steaming cups of hot chocolate, of having the comfort of two warm jackets draped over shoulders and the nipping touch of Mother Winter on her nose, leading to a cold if she wasn't careful.

But with this good, also came the bad, as she thought then of waiting for the bus at the bus stop in temperatures below forty. Where the wind would seep between the end of her jeans and shoes to exposed shins and leave her shivering in agony. She thinks of such vibrant morning hues being drowned in sickening, bright fluorescent lights with banter so loud and obnoxious that it gave her headaches, where nature's beauty was traded for a pitiful excuse of education—

_Alright, that's enough moping. Get up._

With a sigh, she wormed her way out of the sleeping bag, so comfy and warm, and into the chill of the bedroom. She tip-toed on the cold wooden floor to the nearby chair and fished for her socks. Now with the ability to walk freely, Caulfield looked to the mattress, observing the tangle of blankets and pillows that made up her best friend, who was giving off a light snore.

Max smiled, for indeed some things never change, no matter how long time takes its toll.

Movement from the other sleeping bag caught her attention, and Kate rubbed the sleep from one eye, taking a moment to yawn and look up to the brunette with a tired smile.

"Good morning Max," she whispered.

"Morning," the brunette smiled

Stretching, Marsh rolled out of her cocoon, and stood up with the most comical bedhead Max had ever seen in her life. As if that already large, fluffy bun could've been any fluffier, Kate had let her hair flow freely down to her waist, and in the faint light coming from the window the tuffs of those locks formed a fuzzy, messy halo around Kate's head and shoulders. Max quietly chuckled as her friend brushed a hand through the tangle, getting stuck on knots.

"Oh, dangit," Kate hushed a groan, "please tell me it isn't that bad."

"There's a bathroom somewhere, you should see it for yourself."

They quietly snuck out the bedroom, navigating the minimal light in the hallway to the bathroom door, placed between Chloe's room and the master bedroom.

"I'm gonna head downstairs, 'getting hungry."

"Alright, I'll be down soon," and Kate closed the bathroom door. So Max turned, and made her way down the stairs, slowing her steps as she heard the idle clatter of dishes in the kitchen. Then it greeted her, the wondrous smell of morning eggs and bacon and sweet, succulent _pancakes_ , not too stifling on the nostrils, just enough to spark a renewed sense of hunger because _dear lord_ , was she suddenly starving.

The brunette swerved into the kitchen to see Joyce in her element, having fixed a mighty platter of food still steaming on some plates. The overhead kitchen light bathed everything in its white glow.

"Max, good morning dear," Joyce greeted with a glance over the shoulder, busy with washing the last of the dishes, "go ahead and take a seat at the table, I've made your favorite."

_Damn right she did._

"Thank you Joyce," Max muttered quickly, already salivating at the mere sight of such honey-hued pancakes, as she eagerly made her way over to the table. Mr. Madsen, already in his uniform, was sat at the head, with a newspaper in hand and a coffee cup in another. Noticing her, he gruffed an acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the paper, occupied in whatever article had caught his eye.

Max sat down in the chair next to him, trying to be brave, and more focused on stuffing herself full of pancakes. As if on cue, her stomach rumbled, making her flush in embarrassment and hope that it went unnoticed.

Some fleeting chatter came from the kitchen, as Joyce rounded the counterspace carrying two plates, one with the pancakes and one with the eggs and bacon, strutting over to the two seated and serving them with a warm smile. Handing David his plate, the matriarch gracefully reached for her purse and keys, perched atop the fireplace in the corner of the open room.

"David, I'm off to work now, you make sure these girls get to school on time, alright?"

"Of course, hon'," and with a parting kiss, Joyce made her way to the front door. Max paid no mind to Joyce's departure, far too interested was she in trying to fold one pancake on itself with a fork, and taking a savory bite into that delicious euphoria. Kate, having trekked downstairs, now came 'round the kitchen counterspace, with a bowl of cereal in hand and a tidier fluff of hair. She hesitated the slightest at seeing Madsen at the table, and chose to sit on Max's left, farthest from the man.

The ambience of silverware on porcelain echoed in the quiet room, yet this peacefulness lasted for only so long, as the rustle of newspaper startled the girls. David had set aside his paper, and the slight frown on his face made them a bit wary as he took a sip from his mug.

"Good morning," he spoke to the both of them with a low, yet firm voice, "hope you two got some rest."

Max paused in chewing a mouthful of pancakes, Kate set down her spoon.

"I don't mean to rush this, but I'd like to get this out of the way first: do either of you want to go back to Blackwell? I'll be leaving in a few minutes for my shift."

The two looked at each other, nodded, and Kate replied, "We'd rather not, Mr. Madsen. We're more…uhm, worried about Nathan."

"Alright," another sip from the coffee, "I understand. Do you still have that ledger?"

"Yes, it's—uhm, Max, is it—?"

Max finished wolfing down her pancake, "It's still in Chloe's room. I'll go get it."

The brunette excused herself, dashing quietly out of sight and up the stairs, leaving a now nervous Kate all alone in the presence of the big, scary bear man—

 _Ok, maybe that's a bit exaggerating_.

If Kate was being truthful about how she felt, it was that the patriarch sitting at the helm seemed to be rather high-strung, and very protective. His constant fighting with his overly rebellious step-daughter seemed only inevitable then, like an unstoppable force and an immovable object forever clashing with each other. And while Kate may not entirely like David, she respected him for trying to be a good parent, however much a stern man he was. She only hoped he'd let her enjoy her bowl of Honeycomb cereal in peace and not initiate an awkward conversation—

"Kate, right?" and she tensed from suddenly being in the figurative spotlight.

_Oh Lord, please don't—_

"Uhm, are you alright? You're shaking," he noted, and she willed her hand to stop spilling the cereal back into the bowl.

"Y-yes, I'm fine."

She shoved the spoonful of cereal into her mouth to get the point across that she was _fine_ , and not at all scared of Madsen, even as she avoided the concerned look he gave her over the rim of his mug. With another sip, he set the mug down and sighed.

"Kate," he inquired again, more adamantly this time.

She swallowed her fear along with the bite of cereal, "Yes, sir?"

He hesitated, then, "I understand that I've not made a good first impression," he started, "so, I'm sorry if you feel intimidated by me."

She didn't say anything, and David took that as a sign to continue, "I know I had been…very critical, of you and Max yesterday, but I hope you can understand, I just want my step-daughter to be safe. I know I haven't done the best job, trying to reason with her. The truth is, I don't know if she's actually doing alright, or if she _is_ putting herself in danger whenever she's out of the house. Which is why I appreciate you and Max being her friends."

Oh man, was this awkward. Yet, she was touched by his sincerity, and her nervousness faded to a dull tug of the heartstrings. She imagined her own father in David, if only slightly.

"Chloe…she didn't have the luxury of a normal family. I'm trying to make it up for her as best I can, but it doesn't feel like it's enough. So, I thank you, Kate," he gave her a small smile, "thank you for being there for her when I can't."

Easing his eyebrows from their frowning, it seemed to Marsh then, that he was an entirely different person. Perhaps, this was what Joyce saw in the man, a side that was like a gentle giant.

She gave a smile of her own, "You're welcome, Mr. Madsen."

"Please, call me David."

"Sure thing, David."

He nursed his coffee cup again as Max's footsteps sounded from the stairs, she walked into the living room with the worn leather book in her hand. Caulfield scooted into her seat, and passed the book to Madsen, who handled it with a revitalized sense of interest.

"Is this it?"

"Yeah, that's it."

David spent the next couple minutes looking over the pages, a forlorn frown adorned his features as he took note of how many times the name Bulldog showed up in the logs. Then something else caught his attention, and with cautious bewilderment he looked to Max and Kate and pointed to the bottom part of the slip of paper.

"Why is—?"

Max knowingly snickered, and Kate indignantly groaned, rolling her eyes, "Don't worry David, we've already figured out that it's not Kate."

" _Why_ would I even feel the need to use drugs?" Kate huffed, crossing her arms in a show.

David gave a lighthearted chuckle, then shifted the pages once more, "So, Prescott is Rottweiler."

"Yeah, he's been buying all kinds of stuff from the dealers," and Madsen suddenly stood up, and with a muttering that he'll be back, he made his way towards the door leading to the garage. Kate and Max watched the open door with interest, minding the distant clatter as David reappeared, holding a manila folder and a computer in his hands. With a swift pace, he set them both upon the table, taking a seat.

"I had been conducting my own investigation into Prescott, ever since—I imagine Chloe's told you two what happened to Rachel?" he opened the laptop, turning it on.

Both girls nodded.

"Right, ever since she disappeared. I figured something was unusual when she'd been last seen at a party Prescott was hosting, so I dug into it," the manila folder in his hands revealed pages of coordinates, sheets upon sheets of Nathan's personal school record, posters for parties run by the Internationale, reports by security members about Nathan's erratic behavior, Madsen even had a phone card purchased by the Prescott heir, along with printed text conversations with a dealer.

_Most definitely Frank._

"I've been keeping a close eye on him, and I've gathered these coordinates based off a tracker I placed on his truck," David pointed to one of the coordinate sheets, with the highlighted numbers indicating what looked to be a license plate, that which had various coordinate numbers, expressed in latitude and longitude and with corresponding dates.

"Do either of you have a smartphone?"

Max realized that her switch phone wasn't really capable of anything beyond texting and calling, and shook her head, yet Kate pulled out what looked to be a recent model of an iPhone. As Max thought about it, she'd never seen Kate use her phone in the time she'd been investigating, let alone at all since they first met; she was completely blindsided that her friend was years ahead of her in technological capability.

Max inwardly huffed, not wanting to be rude.

"I haven't had the time to check these coordinates, but if you were to place these into a search engine—" at David's request, Kate began inputting the numbers on the phone, while David himself was typing on his computer. He paused a sec, then the frown eased a bit as he was rewarded in his efforts, "this is it."

He shifted his computer their way, and the two girls leaned in to see various markers on a satellite image of Arkadia, including the mountain range to the east and the waters of the bay to the west, the coastal highway ran from north to south and into their humble town. Such markers were placed in random locations, like the beach, or the Arkadia Park, the Blackwell parking lot, but others seemed suspicious, like the lighthouse, the entrance to the harbor, the junkyard.

But on Kate's phone, that which she placed on the table for them to see, one marker stuck out, like a ragged thorn on a lush rose. It caught Max's eye for how far it was when compared to the markers shown on the computer, so distant from the other markers, so alone.

There, to the southeast of the town, a ways off from where the highway continues down to what would be Tillamook, there was a single marker.

"What's with that?" Kate asked, voicing Max's suspicions.

"I'm not sure," David said, curving his mouth into a disappointed line, "I didn't have the time to check it out recently, and even if I did, the marker is on private property, probably owned by the Prescotts."

"So you mean…?" Max woefully asked.

"It's impossible to go to wherever that is without having a good reason, otherwise it'll attract a lot of unwanted attention."

"Damn."

Max snorted at Kate suddenly swearing, David simply raised his eyebrows, as Kate frantically looked at the both of them, muttering a meek, ' _sorry,_ ' and ducking her head.

"Well, that settles it," with a glance to the clock, David finished the last of his coffee and made for the kitchen to wash the mug, "We'll figure out where to go from here sometime later today, I'm due to head out."

Kate took her phone back, carefully placing the files back into the folder as Max took her own empty plate, standing and following Madsen to the kitchen to partake in another feasting of pancakes. The brunette passively watched him take his security cap and keys and saunter over to the front door, as he nabbed his jacket off the coat hanger he hollered to them, "I'll be back, you two stay safe!"

"Bye, David!"

"Bye, Mr. Madsen!"

The door closed, and Max walked back over to the table where Kate was still rummaging through papers. The blonde stopped when she came across a piece David had forgot to mention. It was a drawing of sorts, much like the kind a child would make out of the whims of their imagination. But it was too perfect, its chaotic strokes were too deliberate to be that of an innocent being. So Kate looked closer, and she discerned that it wasn't a mess of lines, but words, that which made up the crude, abstract illustration. She tried to decipher the scribbles—

_Rachel.._

_Rachel..in..in the..._

_Rachel in the..dar—_

"Hey, wanna bite?" and Max offered an exceptionally fluffy piece of pancake to Kate.

A bit surprised, Kate decided to forget the drawing, and chose to partake in eating, taking the piece held out to her and stuffing it in her mouth, and a hum of approval followed.

* * *

"It's now ten fifty-six on this bright Thursday morning, live on _K-Bay Seven News_ , I'm your host, Steven Smith. We'll now be bringing your attention over to the weather for today and the next coming week with our weather forecaster, Terry Jones. Terry, how's it lookin' right about now?"

A pause, "It's looking pretty swell right about now, Steve, but not so much for the next few days afterwards as this low front starts swooping down from British Columbia. As of right now, temperatures are sitting at a moderate sixty degrees with lows staying well into the upper forties, but come the start of next Monday the fourteenth, things will be looking a little worse for wear as we'll be expecting some dips in the high temperatures this coming week—looking at somewhere between the upper fifties to lower forties, along with some heavy rainfall that'll be on-and-off up until Wednesday the sixteenth, so folks, make sure that you stay safe while driving and always come prepared for—"

The television kept muttering away at the latest weather report, yet it served no purpose other than ambience to the two girls on the sofa, having tuned out the anchor's words long before.

"I've just never had the chance to hold one, y'know?" Max said, holding the sacred object in her hands, delicately, like it would fracture to a thousand pieces if held incorrectly, "It's so…cool."

Kate giggled, "It's not that special, Max. I've seen many others with phones like mine."

"I mean, yeah, but do you think I could just ask them out of the blue, _'Hey stranger, can I hold your phone?'_ Like, they'd think I'm a scammer or something."

A humming, as if in thought, "I guess that's true."

"It's just a little...surreal, that these didn't exist less than five years ago."

"As a concept?"

"Yeah. It's weird, like how in history class, they'd tell us all these innovations made by those from the past, but they never tell us much about whether those people from that time even knew—no, understood what they were living."

"You mean, what you _remember_ from history class," Kate jested, and Max crossed her arms and blew her a raspberry in a mock of frustration, to which the blonde chuckled heartily.

"No, but I'm serious, do you think there were people in like…the Renaissance, for example, do you think they even knew that they were in a better era than before?"

"I would assume so. The black plague occurred before the Age of Enlightenment, so there ought to be at least someone who thought that they were living it better than before."

"Huh, yeah," Max handed the iPhone back to Kate, "I wonder if that'll happen to us."

Kate looked from the phone in her hands to Max, "What do you mean?"

"It's 2013, right?"

"Yeah..?"

"What would the world be like in seven years from now, in 2020? Or maybe 2025? Would it be similar, or would it be totally different?"

A pause in conversation, as the TV reigns from the silence, "In other news, last week reports came from within the on-going border crisis between France and Germany over the disputed territory of Alsace-Lorraine, now with another round of negotiations following a cease-fire on the fifteenth of October, with a possible chance of an end of hostilities to begin at the end of the year. Following that came a sudden spark of clashes between the newly formed Federation of Yugoslavia and the Balkan Entente made up of Hungary, Romania, and Bulgaria as the heavily contested regions of Vojvodina and Banat remain undecided."

"I don't know, Max."

The images displayed to them by the news showed ruined cities of places they couldn't name, with scores of refugees lining unpaved, bombed out roads, a makeshift hospital full of wounded people.

"I just hope that we'll eventually see peace."

A child, so malnourished that they looked more like a skeleton draped in skin, was being held close in the arms of their mother, who was wrinkled and frail, with tears streaming down her weathered face.

"Me too, Kate. Me too."

A rattle of footsteps sounded from the stairs, and they looked over the top of the couch to see a weary Chloe step into view. She almost didn't notice them: her eyes were pressed into thin lines, unused to the brightness of the day. When she did realize they were in front of her, she mumbled her greeting and clumsily spun, using her momentum to propel herself into the kitchen, away from their watchful gazes.

"I gather she's not a morning person?" Kate asked.

" _Oh yeah_ ," Max assured, "For as long as I've known her, Chloe's always struggled with sleeping at the right time. It made hanging out together a bit hard when she'd be asleep all day. Cranky, too."

"Y'all better not be talkin' shit about me," came a tired yell from the kitchen.

"I'm just filling Kate in on why you prefer sunsets over sunrises," Max called back, smirking. They could hear Chloe scoff from the other end.

"Figures," she muttered, a clang of the pantry muffled whatever grumbling she had after that.

"Do you think we should tell her what we know?" Kate whispered, more curious.

"Oh yeah, you're right," Max stood up, turned the TV off, and with Kate behind her headed for the kitchen entrance. Chloe was sifting through the pantry, fishing for the Fruity Pebbles in the back of the shelf, looking to the two once she pulled the sneaky box from the confines.

"What?"

"We managed to get David to help us," Max supplied.

"Oh," the bluenette set the cereal next to an empty bowl on the counter, and swung the fridge door open, in search of some milk, "that's cool," she deadpanned.

Max and Kate glanced to each other, then back to Chloe.

"We found out where Nathan's hideout is, maybe where he took Rachel."

Chloe froze as she was closing the fridge, clutching a half-empty carton of milk.

"Wait, what?" she rasped.

"We found out with David's help, that Nathan goes to this place outside of town. We don't know why," said Max, "but we think it has something to do with Rachel."

They watched the tiredness be blinked from icy blue eyes, and Chloe's entire demeanor snapped to life. In a haste, she shoved the milk back into the fridge, slamming its door shut and bolting to the stairs.

"Chloe?" Max called out, following until the bottom of the steps as Chloe stomped her way up to her room, "Chloe, where're you going?"

"To change!" Price hollered, slamming her bedroom door closed. Max dimly heard the ransacking of drawers coming from above as she looked to Kate, still in the kitchen, wringing her hands together, looking confused.

"Quick, get your coat," as Max then ambled up the wooden boards, reaching the top just as Chloe barged from her room, sliding into the bathroom with a full outfit in her arms and closing the door with a kick of the heel.

"Chloe, we shouldn't go," Max edged closer to the bathroom, "David told us it's risky to go down there without a reason, and I don't want to get ourselves in danger."

"Max, no offense to you, but fuck David," Chloe paused, changing, "If I had known that fucker knew where Rachel was, I would've beat it out of him myself, but, " she interrupted herself by fitting her heavy boots into place, "seeing as he's not here, I'm going with the next best option."

"Which is what, going out there without any help?" Kate had come up the stairs by now, standing off to the side, watching Max argue with the bathroom door, "Chloe, it's too risky. What happens if Nathan decides to swing by while you're there? What if something happens to you?"

There was no response to that, except the muffled rustle of clothes being rearranged.

The door suddenly opened, startling the both of them as Chloe skidded back into her bedroom. They followed, nervously observing Price snatch something from her nightstand, a jostling of keys and something else, something slightly bulkier. Facing them, she held it up, and with a slight _click_ , a shiny silver blade popped into view.

"If Prickskott comes by, let him. It gives me all the reason to take him on, alone."

"Chloe that is a _very_ bad idea!" Max pleaded, even as Chloe clicked the blade safely back into place, "you know he's got a gun—he'll probably shoot you first!"

"Then I won't let him," she started for the door, but Max blocked her, standing as tall as she could against her even taller friend, "Max, get out of my way."

"What kind of reason is that?!"

"Reason for what?" Chloe snapped, exasperated.

"For fighting Nathan! _'Then I won't let him'_ ," Max said, highlighting just how stupid it sounded with air quotes, "Chloe, this is—it's reckless! I won't let you go out there just to get shot by that psycho!"

"That's only _if_ he even shows up," Chloe countered, stiff-arming Max out of her way and striding down the steps. But Max, ever determined, followed her every step of the way, beating Chloe to the front door and halting her again.

"You can't take that risk, not without David, not without us—"

"I don't _need_ your fucking help!" Chloe flared, irritated, "I _need_ to see if Rachel's still out there, I _need_ to see if she's still alive!"

"Chloe, please think about this—" a shy voice pleaded from behind her.

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Kate!" she barked, and Marsh recoiled from the force, clutching the strap of her handbag for dear life, "you shouldn't even fucking be here."

" _Chloe_ ," Max bristled, "just stop. You can't do this alone, it's not gonna happen!"

"Fucking watch me."

She grabbed hold of, and roughly shoved Max out of the way, opening the door.

Caulfield tried to reach her best friend from her landing on the floor, "Chloe, wait—!"

_THUNK_

Silence.

A few soft-treading footsteps reached the bottom of the stairs, and padded on carpet over to where Max laid. A gentle hand placed itself on her shoulder a second after.

"Come on, let's go."

Max looked up, a little miffed at Kate's change of mind, "But we can't. We shouldn't…"

"She's made up her mind, Max. We can only try to keep her safe. It's up to us, to make up our minds."

So Kate helped her stand, passing the sling of the photographer's satchel, unnoticed until now, and with poise the blonde opened the door to the outside world. To their surprise, they saw Chloe's rusted truck still in its place, with its owner in the driver's seat. From behind the glass windows, Chloe clutched the steering wheel, looking visibly distressed. The punk took no notice as they walked over to the passenger side, jerking out of her reverie when Kate opened the passenger door.

" _Jesus_ —" Price swore, curling into her seat as much as possible as Max jumped into the middle seat, Kate following right behind her and slamming the door shut. The girls fumbled their handbags down in front of their seats, reaching for seatbelts; or in Max's case, sit with her hands clasped in her lap, looking directly at the driver with a pointed stare.

"Uhm."

"Yes, Chloe?"

Price reached for her jeans pocket, stopped short, then resorted to running a shaky hand through her hair, "I'm…I'm sorry."

"For what?" Max pressed.

"I'm sorry for—for being an asshole," Chloe sighed, chin touching the hem of her t-shirt, "I didn't mean to be angry at you guys, I just—"

Max gently placed a hand on the bluenette's right shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze.

"I just wanna see her so badly," she choked out.

"Then we will, Chloe."

At her bewildered gaze, Max's hand intertwined with Kate's left, and did the same with Chloe's right, forming a link between the three of them.

"We'll find Rachel and take down Nathan, _all of us_."

That determination shone once more, bright against the shadowy doubts, and it brought a tear to Chloe's eye. Wiping it away, she slotted the keys into the ignition, and the engine rolled over and purred to life, awaiting another adventure.

* * *

The dirt road proved to be very uneven. Every bump sent them jostling in Chloe's truck, as the vehicle did not have any form of shock absorption. Yet still they moved on down the path, determined. They'd gotten used to the jostling, at least: Kate held tightly to the door rest, her left hand in Max's right, keeping them together to avoid bumping into Chloe. The punk looked hardly fazed by the motions, yet Max would see her grip the steering wheel tightly whenever the bumps swelled in frequency. Surrounding them since they turned off the paved coastal highway, were large, luscious pine trees, their trunks stood proudly from the ground up until the branches took over, vibrant with green needles for leaves.

Yet these pines towered over them like giants, sometimes blocking what little rays of sun would venture through the forest. They trudged on, further.

"You see anything?"

"I don't see shit. You sure this was the right road?"

"It has to be," Max rotated her head this way and that, looking for anything beyond what they could see, "there's no other road that's this close to town that isn't specifically paved. It's gotta be this way."

"I hope you're right," said Chloe, emphasizing such as she drove over another bump in the road.

The pines were numerous, and brought with them a sense of being trapped in a maze. Each tree seemed to be placed perfectly, so that they overlapped one another in a constricting view, stretching on endlessly. No matter where one placed themselves, they were always, absolutely, inevitably, surrounded by the pines.

"There."

Kate pointed just beyond a curve in the road, to where they could make out the silhouette of something unlike the vertical forms of trees. They rounded the slight curve, and came face to face with a structure. It was worn down, and looked like it could topple with the slightest gust of wind.

An old wooden fence, two lines of horizontal wooden slats divided with vertical stakes, stretched around the entire structure's perimeter, and an opening with a rotting sign served as the entrance, the words, _Private Property_ were dimmed of their red color. As the truck inched forwards, they noticed the tire tracks, distinguished by the snaking lines of churned mud amongst the overgrown grass. The tracks guided them to the building—a barn, they surmised, and Chloe shut off the engine.

"This is it."

"A-are you sure, Max?"

"It's gotta be it, Kate. Look, you guys see that?" Max pointed to a pole next to the barn, a few cables ran the length between the two structures and disappeared into the ground.

"It's abandoned, yet there's some cables, right there. They're running power to this place."

"Even though it looks like it'll topple any second," Chloe wondered, "this is hella sus'."

Chloe opened her door, and the two others did the same, leaving their bags. Together they exited the truck and cautiously made their way to the barn doors. There came with the biting gusts of cold air a sense of discomfort, something that settled in their stomachs and made them slightly hunch their shoulders. Max suddenly realized—there was no noise. No birds sung from within the trees, no planes were droning overhead, even though it was prime time for flying.

There was nothing but the sound of wind and slight treading of shoes on grass.

Mammoth hinges, rusted but still strong, held the dilapidated wooden doors in place. A single tug by Chloe made it clear that they were locked tight, and unless they risked ripping the hinge off, it would be obvious to Prescott that someone had found his hiding spot.

"Check the sides, maybe there's some way in."

Chloe quickly skirted to the right, so Max and Kate circled left, and the two shorter girls slowly weaved through some haybales sitting idle to the barn's side. Walking up to the side of the barn, Max placed a hand against the wavy aluminum sheet metal that stood strong, dented in some places, yet mostly marred by the rays of the sun.

"Max, over here!" came a call further down the side.

Sprinting past an exceptionally large stack of haybales, Max caught sight of Kate, already halfway through an opening in the metal, being helped inside by Chloe. The bluenette had come from all the way around, apparently finding nothing on her side nor the back, and was pushing Kate's shoes into the opening. Slowly did the blonde's jeans vanish into the hole in the metal.

With a _thump_ , Kate had made it inside, and Chloe gripped the edge of the piece of metal, careful to not cut herself.

"You ready?"

"Yeah, do it!"

Together, they moved the aluminum sheet aside, creating an entrance big enough to crouch through. With a beckoning wave, Chloe crawled her way in, and Max followed, her eyes adjusting to the dimness within the dusty abode.

Idly brushing the dirt from their sleeves, the girls looked to the cluttered expanse of the barn's interior, totally unexpected compared to its exterior. Thick, reinforced wooden supports stood valiantly in equal distance between each other in each corner, supporting the terrace above them, curving in tangent with the dimensions of the barn. Wooden pallets created individual stalls for storage on the ground floor, and in some of those spaces were troves of hay, in others were miscellaneous farm tools. In the center, there was the open space where one would place their car, or truck, and the light that filtered through the cracks of the walls centered on that space.

In one of the stalls closest to them, on their right, there was a lone, wooden chest, sitting forlornly under a small shelf strewn with used oil lamps and wax candles.

Max's curiosity got the better of her, so she crouched and tested to see if the chest was unlocked, gripping its upper lip and pulling. With a bit of strain, she lifted the lid, and gazed into the contents—a plethora of shadows greeted her.

"Anyone got a light?"

Kate fished out her phone, a light shone from it a second after and was directed into the chest, revealing artifacts, some small and some cumbersome in design. There were also documents, letters on aged yellowish paper, and what caught Max's eye was the first one on the top, which showed that it was the deed to the property under a familiar name.

"Henry Aaron Prescott…" Max read, "…this must be where Nathan's family settled way back when."

Chloe crouched beside her, reaching in and taking what looked to be a quill, its tip was spotted in dried black ink. Placing it back in, she took an olden pocket watch, it's hands stuck at one minute to twelve o'clock.

"Buncha' weird shit in here, alright," Chloe placed the watch back where she found it and stood, wanting to explore another part of the barn. Max reluctantly followed, replacing the papers she'd shuffled through and closing the chest. They moved past the other storage stalls, finding nothing of note beyond a run-down shell of a tractor and a tall, portable toolbox.

"Hey, guys, check this out!"

Max and Kate looked up to the walkway above them, to where Chloe smiled with childish glee down from the railing, pointing to the opposite corner they entered from, "There's a ladder over there, it'll get you up here. Come on, there's bound to be something!"

They obliged, navigating past a heavy support beam, to where Kate's light shone on the ladder that was bolted onto one of the palettes, with an opening atop. Max reached for the rungs, but a grip on her arm stopped her, and she turned to Kate, "What? What is it?"

"Look."

She pointed to something next to the ladder, unseen in the darkness but prominent when under her light. A lone, off-white light switch, with a tangle of wires that curled up the palette and went off to a corner of the barn. Edging closer, Max reached out a hesitant hand, and flicked the switch. A lone light bulb turned on above them, bathing the corner in its yellow-orange glow.

"Huh, it works."

Kate turned her phone light off and froze, eyeing something on the floor. She crouched to get a better look at it, thus catching Max's attention. In the mess of hay bits and dirt, there was a cleared spot on the ground where a knot of rope was tied to a metal loophole. Brushing the dirt away revealed that it was a lock to a metal hatch, one that had something buried underneath it.

"Is that a hatch?"

"It looks like it. I'm not sure."

"Not sure about what?" Chloe asked, as she dropped down from the opening above them, confused to their discovery. Upon seeing the knot blocking their way, Price pulled the switchblade from her pocket and readied the knife.

"Wait, Chloe, what if he notices? We shouldn't cut it."

"Okay, well, how else are we gonna get down there?"

Max looked around blindly, hoping for something in sight that could help her protest, but nothing stuck out.

Scoffing, Chloe held the rope taut, and cut at it with the blade, in a few seconds she tore the knot apart and cleared it. Finding a slight grip on the hatch, Chloe heaved, Max and Kate joined her in pulling the metal up. With a _clang_ , the metal door swung out, then dust kicked up and spurred them to a coughing fit.

There was a flight of concrete steps, leading down to a corridor. A line of wire ran along the wall of this corridor, and connected lights lit the entire passage in a cold, fluorescent blue hue. This corridor extended beyond what they could see, farther down into the unknown.

The girls looked to each other, wondering who was daring enough to venture down.

"Fuck it, I'm going in."

So Chloe led first, with her knife in hand she stepped her way down, with Max following behind her and Kate bringing up the rear. This hallway went on for a ways, then turned left. Rounding the corner, they confronted a giant blast door. It was shiny, as if brand new, with a gear wheel like those one would see on the vaults of banks in the center of its frame, and off to the door's side was a small number pad.

Chloe swore under her breath, "Shit's locked down, whatever Nathan's up to, it's in there."

"We need to guess the code for it," Max noted the three lights on the pad, signifying the three numbers needed. From the haze of the light, she could see a few numbers on the pad were more used than the rest.

"How many times can we chance it before we trip an alarm or something?"

"I'm…not sure."

"You better guess right Max," Chloe urged, "or else shit's gonna get worse."

Max hovered her index finger over the three weathered number keys, a slew of potential combinations flooded her mind and left her doubtful, indecisive. With a sigh, she settled on one option, inputting the numbers.

_2-4-5_

A single _beep_ sounded, then nothing.

"…did it work?" Kate nervously asked.

Chloe tried to spin the wheel this way and that, straining herself even though it didn't budge. Annoyed, she kicked the door with her boot.

"Nope, fuckin' nothing."

"Lemme try again."

_5-4-2_

_Beep-beep- **CLUNK**_

Startled, they hesitated as the wheel slightly rotated by itself, then Chloe latched on and turned, spinning it further counter-clockwise before pulling. Unresisting, the massive steel door opened, revealing a poorly lit entry room.

"Kate, light."

The light flicked on after a second, illuminating a shroud of translucent tarps and…packaged food. Canned food, boxes full of them, lined the wall and sat atop shelves, dusty from lack of use. Opposite to them, there was a large sink with three faucets that ran the length of the opposite wall, lit by a single fluorescent bulb just above it. They inched slowly past the threshold, carefully walking towards the sink, past the shelves. There was an opening to the left of the sink, a double-piece tarp shielded the contents from their sight except for the bright light coming from within.

"Here we go, girls."

Chloe pushed the two tarps aside, moving quickly into the room.

Max followed, eyeing the printer that was to their immediate right. A computer monitor sat on a stylish desk just ahead of them, and cabinets lined the corner behind it and all the way to the printer beside them. These cabinets extended along the opposite wall until reaching a vertical shelf, which held various trinkets. In the middle of the room was a leather couch, in front of which stood a rectangular glass table with a single bottle of liquor. Beyond the table and flanked by studio lights, along with various cameras mounted on tripods, was a pale white background canvas, lining a section of the floor and going vertically up the wall to a large roller.

There existed absolutely no noise beside the shuffling of shoes and the muffled hum of the lights above, that which lined the black geometric squares of the ceiling.

"Check the computer over there, Max," Chloe shuffled to the end of the cabinets, checking the insides to see if they had anything useful. Max crossed the space and turned on the laptop, surprised to see that it was unlocked and didn't require a password. Kate walked about and shivered, yet not from the cold. Anxiously glancing at the paintings that lined the wall to the left of the tapestry, she beheld the haunting eyes of their mutilated and gored subjects, those watching over them with a silent, sinister glee.

A single folder in the center of the desktop piqued Max, and clicking on it brought up a bunch of files and another subfolder, titled _Subjects_. Clicking on the first file, it was a receipt by a construction company she'd never heard before, confirming the price of building the apparent bunker they were in. Eyebrows rose as the brunette saw the amount of zeros on the page, counting to the millions. What worried her more was the name behind the money.

"This is a bunker paid for by Nathan's father, Sean Prescott. They started building it in 2009, finished it in the same year."

"Anything else?" A clang as Chloe shut another of the cabinet doors closed.

"No, just a bunch of legal documents, and—"

_cli-click_

"…what the hell?"

"What, what is it?" forgetting the cabinet just behind them, Chloe leaned beside Max to see what was wrong. In the sub-folder Max had clicked on, there were even more folders, each with a name. Max counted at least twenty of them, all dating back from the fall of 2009, right up to the present day, the most recent being almost a week ago.

Panic set in as the both of them looked at the names of the two most recent folders.

"What…what the fuck?" Chloe muttered, scared, she took the mouse from Max and hovered it over the folder titled, _'Rachel'_.

_cli-click_

Two pairs of blue eyes widened in mute shock.

" _Wh_ - _what the fuck_ —!?"

"What, what is it?" Kate asked worriedly, having moved behind the monitor, though not wanting to see it herself.

"Oh Christ, I'm gonna hurl—" and Chloe just walked away, leaning off the top of the couch and trying her hardest not to lose herself to sickness. Max was sat still, for she couldn't stop looking at the images of Rachel, bound and completely out of it, posed in various intentional positions. It was a photoshoot, with each picture edited with a greyscale. One stood out amongst the rest: a high angle shot of Rachel in the junkyard, lying unconscious in a shallow pit, a shovel lied just out of the frame.

On top of her, also unconscious, was Nathan.

It could not be. It simply could not _be_. How could it indeed be Nathan, when he himself is one of the subjects? Did he do this himself? Did he really edit these photos—?

_How could he have done this alone, with no help?_

The questions buzzed in Max's mind, nervously did she run a hand through her bob of brown hair. Looking at the image title, her heart began to beat even faster.

"Chloe."

"What?" came a reply, strained through clenched teeth.

"These aren't digital pictures…they're scans."

Blue hair flicked over to her again, an intense gaze eyed Max carefully, beckoning her to speak anything but the horrifying truth.

"These pictures were put through a printer, scanned, and saved onto the computer," Max stood and stepped back, bumping into the closet behind her. She turned, staring at the plain black cabinet like she'd discovered the end of their plight. With a huff, Caulfield swung the door open.

Binders. Dull, crimson red binders.

Scores of them, lining the shelf space from top to bottom. Only one shelf at eye-level wasn't at full capacity. There lied naught but two binders, their necks lined with a white paper label just like the rest.

"Max, what are those?" a scared voice sounded behind her.

Max reached for one of the two binders. Opening the cover, she encountered the same terrible images as those on the computer, the same poses and terrifying expressions, the only difference being the subject. Terror gripped her heart.

"I…I don't know, Kate."

She turned and set the open binder on the desk. She couldn't handle seeing it anymore.

Hands, small and shaking, rotated the binder on the surface, and a horrible gasp sounded as Max eased herself into the swivel chair behind the desk.

"I don't remember this," it sounded like the shaking blonde was trying to convince herself more than the two with her, "why—why can't I remember this?"

"It happened right around the time you went to that party. Last week," Max realized, "Nathan must've drugged you and took you here."

Goosebumps bloomed on chilled skin.

"He did the same with Rachel six months before that."

Chloe was pacing, growling, clenching and unclenching fists. Anything to contain the pain. She stomped over and took the lone binder on the shelf, flicking through the unbearable tugging of heartstrings to find a sign that it couldn't be true, it couldn't be true—

"He killed her."

Max looked up at the computer screen, seeing the image of Rachel in that shallow pit of earth.

She saw those tired, lifeless eyes, empty.

_Dead._

"He buried her in the junkyard."

A gnarled scream tore from Chloe's throat as she flung the binder to the floor, and it bounced off the tile and ended up closed, unmoving. The bluenette doubled over, falling to her knees, and tried to speak through raw, choking sobs. Max slowly stood from her spot and walked over to the wailing husk. Crouching, she pulled her grieving friend into an embrace.

* * *

A/N - Dunkelkammer - _German_ , "Darkroom"


	13. On Cue, Bloody Clue

"A snake has its poison in its teeth, a dog in its tongue, a scorpio in its tail. It's only the humans who have poison in their hearts." - William Shakespeare

* * *

The last bell for Thursday's classes rung, and Juliet slung her bag over her shoulder, and weaved past the slow-pokes in their seats, pushing her way out the classroom. The math teacher was pulling some last-minute reminders like an advertisement with the fine print, but she wasn't in any state of mind to care.

The cafeteria down the hall was cordoned off with some caution tape and with a lone security guard, nervously glancing down the hall from each side. Watson paid him no mind, for she wanted nothing to do with the place he guarded ever again. Already had Prescott's deadline expired, now every minute spent outside the safety of the dorm building was another minute in danger.

Speed-walking down the hallway, she reached the main intersection, and got round the corner to the front doors before hastily swinging herself back and out of sight. Juliet pressed herself against the lockers along the wall, suddenly anxious as all hell and desperately easing her thundering heart—

_Where the hell did they come from!?_

She'd gone thankfully unnoticed by the four hounds laxing in front of the doors. They had their backs turned when she'd walked around the corner, and were hunched down looking at their phones. Looking back the way she came, the hall was being flooded with students, walking with purpose towards the intersection, probably looking forward to spending the rest of the day beyond the confines of the school.

She had to time this right, and moreover, place herself to where they couldn't reach her. Ducking her head, she eyed the shadows of those hounds that stretched along the laminate floor, those bobbing heads and limbs danced about as the four boys around the corner were jesting with each other. Snarky laughs like rabid hyenas rung from them, and it seems someone must've struck comedy gold and got the whole squad laughing. Their jokes didn't matter to Juliet, though. She was more in tune with the passing footsteps of the crowd behind her, cursing herself as a few fast-walking nobodies went ahead and walked round the corner, no doubt alerting them.

_Here goes._

Placing herself directly behind a group of four walking abreast of each other, Juliet kept her head low and her eyes on the edge of her brow as the gap she entered through closed immediately, and a shield of excited peers surrounded her as they made for the red doors of salvation.

The hounds caught on quick, for not everyone wears their hair in a curled bun on the nape of the neck, nor has a thick-double sided leather jacket like Juliet did, but it was all for naught. They made the mistake of letting the crowd separate them to the sides, and they couldn't reach her from their pressed positions on the walls. Juliet thanked the heavens for a clean getaway and followed the group in front of her as they swung the doors open, to the blissful outside.

Into another group of Prescott's, eyeing the exiting masses from the water fountain a ways from the entrance.

_Oh no._

They spotted her almost immediately, as with a nod from their group leader they stood and made their way closer, and dread swelled in her heart and made her thoughts spill into a maddening symphony. She clung to the four close to her for as much as they could help, before dashing in front of them, speed-walking as fast as her legs could carry her.

Oh, was she glad she wore sneakers today.

A commotion from behind her made her panic. It seemed that they were closing in faster than she thought, and she briskly skirted down the small flight of steps into the corridor, the gate to the girls' dorms lied on the other end.

Juliet heard the snicker of someone behind her, too close behind her, and felt her eyes widen with fright.

" _Just where d'you think you're going?_ "

She booked it in that instant, fear driving her forwards as the cry of the hounds sounded, and footsteps rumbled behind her as they gave chase, some hollered and whooped from farther behind, egging on the ones right at her heels.

Not thinking straight, she glanced back and saw for the slightest of seconds the eyes of a hound a few steps behind her. The sheer steadiness in that gaze, like a wolf assured of its next prize, sprung her legs to life, her heart now in overdrive as she ducked out of his reaching arm.

Turning the corner, Juliet didn't have the time to realize she was on a collision course with another person until she slammed into their side, twirling with the momentum and landing hip-first onto the concrete, missing a second lunge by the hound. He halted himself with a planted foot, ready to jump her where she lay, before he locked eyes with whoever Juliet had crashed into. She did the same, looking shocked to see the school's only janitor and maintenance worker, Samuel Taylor, holding a section of damaged metal pipe in one hand, and what was a half-bucket of white paint in the other, the rest of its contents dripping from the can, and the splattered section of his pants and boots.

The thing about Samuel that spooked everyone, even some of the faculty, was that no one knew exactly _why_ a man like him was a janitor, or how he even attained the job. If one were to take a look at Samuel, they would see the exaggerated, toned physique he wielded, for while he walked with a slight limp in his left leg and was always seen hunched, Samuel was very obviously fit and in proper shape, and this was enough to drive crazy rumors about how he maintained his physique despite his sloth-like lifestyle. No one knew much about him, and it was said that only Principal Wells knew of his background enough to consider hiring him. Juliet had heard stories that Mr. Taylor was a veteran living a quiet life, or perhaps an ex-felon, or even maybe just a punished man. Most prominently, was that no one had ever witnessed Samuel become mad, nor frustrated, nor even passive-aggressive. With Samuel, he was a gentle hulk of a man, quiet in conversation and often wearing smiles and happy thoughts.

Samuel was not happy in this present moment.

Whether it was the paint on his only pair of overalls or the fact that he knew why Juliet was being chased, it didn't mean much if the end result was the same. The hounds knew it too, so they flung their hoodies over their heads and retreated, dashing around the gate and out of sight.

A hand, covered in a disposable cyan glove, reached down to help her up, and Juliet obliged, growing more nervous about his lack of a smile.

"I, uh—I'm sorry, Samuel."

He looked her in the eye, blinked, and relaxed. He then turned his head to the gate and sighed.

"Samuel accepts your apology."

He also talks in second-person. A lot.

"Thanks by the way. For, uh, helping me out there," Watson stammered.

"Samuel does not like it when students try to hurt other students. It reminds Samuel of times before."

Whatever he meant by that, he didn't explain any further. He instead looked down and _tut-tut-tutted_ at the liberal amount of paint now splattered on the walkway.

Seeing no reason to stay, Juliet made to leave, idly rubbing the soreness of her hip when Samuel called to her, "Young Juliet."

"What?"

"Me thinks you should tread carefully now, it's not safe anymore."

It seemed almost redundant and condescending, if one looked at it at face-value. Yet that's the thing about Samuel, he is not one to say something meaningless. He could be aptly described as an enigma sometimes with the way he words things, so when an enigma is giving her a straight, honest answer, it indeed filled Juliet with a kind of discomfort, the same kind she'd been unfortunately feeling a lot during this whole week.

"I will."

Samuel took the long way around the courtyard, towards the janitor's office off to the side of the building, limping his foot to keep the paint from spilling, and with that she turned and quickly strode to the dorm's front doors.

* * *

Compared to the cool air outside that tempered the heat of her escape from the hounds, the inside was stuffy, stifling in the jacket she wore. Shedding the thick coat, Juliet pushed past the entry to the second floor, steadying herself from the adrenaline rush.

"Jules—!"

Looking up from the lines in the carpet, Juliet spotted Dana and Alyssa, standing over by the former's dorm room. Dana was waving her over, while Alyssa was hunched, gripping her flip phone like a lifeline.

"Shit's crazy out there, D," Juliet prompted, folding her jacket upon her arm, "I nearly got jumped by a pack of them waiting outside the main building, Samuel stopped them before they got to me."

"Jesus," Dana whispered, "Alyssa and I booked it here once school let out, and we didn't see any of them. Have you seen Stella or Brooke at all?"

"Nah, I didn't see them, why?"

Mutterings caught both their attention, as Alyssa started pacing, her face was knotted into a grimace, tense.

"Alyssa, what's wrong?"

"It's been five minutes, and she's not responding," Anderson replied, bringing up the phone to her ear.

"Who?" asked Juliet.

"Stella," Alyssa held a finger up a second after, beckoning them silent, "Stella? Hello?"

A pause, "Look, Stella—wait-wait-wait, _slow down_ —" brows furrowed together, trying to piece whatever came from the other end, "Wait, what?"

Alyssa's fingers turned white as she gripped the phone, slightly shaking, "What do you mean, busted open?" Eyes widened to saucers, and the stocky girl looked like she'd watched the world be torn asunder.

"Alyssa, what's going on?"

Holding up the finger again, "You should head to the nurse, Stella—they wouldn't—"

" _Alyssa?_ " Dana pressed. Juliet gulped.

Ignoring her, Anderson continued, "Have you—Stella, listen, just—" another pause, a gruff of frustration, then, "just get here quick. Don't loop around, they'll likely catch on to you, just _move_."

Phone tucked away, Alyssa turned to them, "We gotta head down, now," and she sped her way to the stairs, the two behind her in tow.

"The fuck's going on with Stella? Why'd you tell her to head to the nurse?" they asked Alyssa, following her down the steps.

"They got jumped, one of them's hurt. Stella was trying to get to the nurse, but they're indirectly blocking her way to it," with a shove she swung the door open and moved for the dorm entrance, stopping short of going outside, "I told her to get over here as quick as possible, I just hope she'll listen to me."

"Who got hurt, do you know, did she tell you—?"

"I think it was Brooke, but she didn't say who exactly."

"Aw, _fuck_ ," Juliet swore, rubbing the back of her neck, fidgeting.

So they waited, with Alyssa looking through the small window of the door out into the dorm's courtyard, waiting for their friends to come from the gate.

Dana impatiently tapped her shoe on the carpet floor, crossing her arms and leaning against the wall as Juliet pulled out her phone, anxious for a text, a call, for _anything_.

The hum of the air conditioner whirred to life, and the air became a bit crispy, enough for Watson to put her jacket back on.

"We should just go out there," Dana eventually muttered, "they'll be coming to us anyways, we should go and meet them halfway."

"No," came Alyssa's sudden reply. The buff girl turned her head from the window, and side-eyed her friends nervously, "We don't need to make it easier for Prescott's henchmen to catch us unprepared, it's too risky for us to go out there."

"Too risky for us? What about Stella and Brooke? For all we know, they could be getting mauled by those bastards _right now_ and we could be helping them!" Dana snipped.

Anderson did not budge, "I'm not risking it. There are too many of them for us either way, and I am not risking either of you over a mere possibility," deep blue eyes now completely turned themselves to the both of them, and the curt tone she gave them left no quarter to press.

It didn't stop them, though.

"Alyssa, with all due respect, I don't like this idea at all," said Juliet.

"I know it's not the best, but it's all we have."

"No, I mean it's just bad. Like, of all the things we could be doing right now, standing here and not trying to help is the worst."

A frown marred Anderson's face, "And what, what are we going to do if we all go out there to help them, and end up gathered in one spot, _surrounded_ , and right where those bastards want us? It's too likely to happen, we _cannot_ let ourselves be lured into this obvious trap."

"That isn't the point," Dana snapped, " _I'm_ saying Stella and Brooke could be getting assaulted by the very same bastards that'll clobber all of us given the chance, and yet you're here telling us we shouldn't help them!"

"You do not—!" Alyssa suddenly bit her tongue, eyeing something over Dana's shoulder. They turned, and saw a lone girl, with black hair done up in a ponytail, frozen halfway through the open door to the first floor dorms. With a dissuading gesture, she closed the door and let them be.

"You don't know that," it sounded like Alyssa was pleading to them, but Juliet wasn't sure, "By your logic it's just as likely that they'll be waiting for us to come help, just to gang up on us when we're vulnerable," Alyssa was shaking her head as she spoke, as if reaffirming the truth to herself.

"If you're not going to go out there and do something, then _I_ will—" Dana was readying to bust the doors open when Alyssa body-blocked her, locking the cheerleader at the biceps with her hands.

"Dana, please don't do this," Anderson pleaded, it fell on deaf ears as Dana tried to strongarm the bulkier girl out of her way. And despite her own athletic physique, Alyssa held more raw strength than Dana, and it showed as with a growl, the cheerleader snipped, "Alyssa, get the _hell_ out of my way!"

Juliet grew curious at the almost terrified look on Alyssa's face, made worse by the effort to keep her taller friend at bay. Such fright perplexed Watson, and she needed an answer, "Alyssa just…at least tell us why you want to stay, just tell us that—"

But Alyssa didn't hear her, so entangled was she in the brawl that was between her and Dana to notice. The two girls teetered to and fro, but it was clear that Alyssa held the upper hand in keeping Ward from pushing her away. Annoyed, the auburnette chose to suddenly yank back with all her might, the forward pressure Alyssa held was used against her and she slipped forwards, careening to the floor—

And landing right on top of Dana, effectively pinning the auburnette on the ground as she too, fell from the sudden change of force. Juliet swore, scurrying and helping pull the two to their feet, placing herself between them to prevent them from going at it again.

"Guys, just quit it, alright, just quit it!"

"We should be helping them, and you fucking know it, Alyssa!" Dana yelled, only kept back by the smaller Watson, "The fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Dana, just let it go—"

"My family was attacked at knifepoint because they were too sentimental, that's what's wrong," Alyssa spat, low and vulnerable, "and you charging headfirst to assured death isn't going to happen if I can stop it," squaring her shoulders, Anderson stood firm, a bastion of the doors, unmovable.

"I'm not letting it happen again," she rasped, a curt finality, a declaration.

"Oh, so letting Stella and Brooke get torn to pieces while you sit here and do fuck all doesn't bother you, but when somebody else tries to go and help them, it suddenly becomes a burden on _your_ conscious?" the angered cheerleader air-quoted, "are you fucking serious right now?"

The bastion's frown deepened, but otherwise she weathered the temper thrown, remaining silent.

"Alyssa, I don't know why the fuck you're so invested in keeping us from helping the _same people_ who introduced you to _our_ group, but I need you to do me the biggest favor right now and _get the fuck out of my way_. I'm not letting them get hurt because you're too much of a coward to do anything about it," Dana growled, grinning as the statue's eye twitched, insulted.

"You're letting your fears cloud your judgements, I am not listening to your speculation."

"I am fucking worried because _my_ friends are in danger! _You_ just don't seem to grasp that, do you? I guess _you_ just don't fucking care about them, hm? Is that it, Alyssa?"

"I care about you all, even if we've not known each other for long."

"Then what the fuck are you doing!? What the hell happened to sticking together, huh?! Why are you getting in our way— _get off me_ ," Juliet tried to keep Dana from edging closer to the door but was roughly pushed aside. Now, Ward was like an electric charge, fiery and trembling from the excessive fury in her veins.

"You're being reckless," the bastion countered.

"You're being a fucking bitch," Dana barked back, and with a huff she stomped towards the obstacle in her way, ready to brawl. Alyssa hunched her shoulders, adjusting her stance to negate the strike sure to come, eyes taking in every flick and twitch of her enraged opponent.

Dana coiled the tension in her heels, ready to pounce on the nuisance in her way when a sudden force struck her side, knocking her off balance, and sending her into the wall. She slumped to the floor, knocked off her high horse.

" _STOP_ , both of you!" With the tension palpable, Juliet pointed her index fingers in both their directions, looking for any sign of a fight. There came none from Alyssa, who eased her posture and frown, looking more forlorn than angry. Dana was the opposite, a fire still burned inside her, yet the oxygen was in short supply, and with a sigh she pushed off the wall and stood still, neither retreating nor advancing.

"Both of you need to calm down," Juliet eyed the two of them sternly, a mother chiding her kids after a bit of roughhousing, "we can't be doing this, no matter the reason why."

"I thought you were on my side," Dana bit, sore in her hip and dignity.

"I'm on neither side of you two," Watson scorned, "not until the both of you quit fighting each other."

"What are you looking at me for?" whether it was coincidence or intentional that Juliet looked to Dana when she spoke, she never clarified.

"Alyssa," Juliet asked flatly, ignoring the scoff opposite to her, "what did you mean by ' _again_ '?

"What?"

"When you said something about your family getting attacked," a slight flinch, barely noticeable, swept the stocky girl as Juliet spoke, "you said something like ' _I won't let it happen again_.' What did you mean by that?"

Anderson was uncomfortably stiff, eyes darting to the floor and flickering back to their jade green counterparts. Hesitating, Anderson was caught off guard by one of the doors behind her being pushed open. Yet, the momentum was lacking, as it arched a foot inwards or so before stopping.

"Is anyone there? Please, I need some help!" a strained voice sounded from the threshold. The three converged, and Alyssa pried the door the rest of the way to reveal Stella, hunched, visibly exhausted and panting. Held up by a single arm, Brooke was leaning onto the smaller ebony brunette, the engineer's head was hung low, obscured as she bobbed with every slight adjustment Stella made to keep her up.

Drops of blood fell from Brooke's obscured face, landing with a splatter on her shoes.

* * *

The second floor entrance burst open in a flurry of activity, as five figures funneled through the threshold, one of them being carried by another two, and the rest trodding in front. And even after observing the damage, Juliet felt the worry soar when she'd seen Brooke's bloodied nose. It seemed crooked, but Watson couldn't tell if it truly was because of the way the blood caught her attention, shining wet and coating the wounded girl's upper lip. Shaking the thought out of her head, Juliet fished for her keys and unlocked the door to her room, ushering her friends inside.

Brooke had been floating between knocked the fuck out and barely functioning, and was now currently trying to shrug the lot of them off of her, proving fruitless as her coordination was too misaligned to work.

"Ghuys izs fine, Ah'm fine," the Filipina had a serious nasal inflection in her voice, and Juliet imagined it to be caused by the girl's clogged nose. Watson ravaged the bottom drawer of her closet, shoveling past the few extra towels and extra stuff in the back, she fished the first aid kit out from its resting place, and quickly crawled over to where her wounded friend lay. They had placed Brooke on the floor at the edge of the bed, her head rested on the mattress and was gently angled up to stop the blood flow.

Unzipping the package, she fiddled with the bottle of disinfectant and the cotton balls, dousing the latter with a generous amount of the liquid and reaching a hand to steady Brooke's face.

"Alright, just hold still now, Brooke, this is gonna sting a little bit," and the poor girl hadn't the time to realize what was coming before Juliet dabbed the cotton upon the bloody curve of the nose, sparking a cry of pain. In a panic, Brooke tried to curl inwards, yet gentle hands prevented her, whispers of assurance drowned the whimpering, and they coaxed her to stay calm.

Juliet continued, this time invoking just a painful hiss as she switched to small brushstrokes, wiping the blood clear and sanitizing the wound. Once she had cleared the bloody mess, she eyed the prominent red hue that lit up the entirety of the raven-haired girl's nose. Watson was thankful: it was not cracked, or malformed. There was a gash just between Brooke's eyebrows, where the blood had oozed out and made the damage look far worse than it was. It left the Filipina with a still-intact, but badly swollen nose, red and puffy.

_Like Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer._

Watson rummaged for the box of band-aids, and became a bit disturbed at the lack of a box in the kit. The best alternative she had was some gauze, near useless and unable to stick on its own—

"Someone get the tape sitting on my desk," Juliet beckoned, taking the wrapping and tearing it into manageable pieces. Dana was handing the tape to her, but the reporter refrained, "help me put the pieces on."

Gingerly, she took the pieces of tape from her best friend's hand, and carefully placed the makeshift bandage on the bridge of Brooke's nose, securing it with the tape pressed at the gauze's edges. Brooke growled at the pressure, and grimaced through the pain.

"I could'a done it mah'self, yu'know," she indignantly huffed, crossing her arms and trying to curb the subtle sting by frowning it away.

Stella chuckled then, so sudden and carefree against the tense atmosphere, everyone else looked at her like she'd gone mad. This made her chuckle more, "I'm sorry— _wheeze_ —it's just she sounds like fuckin' Squidward, y'know, from that one episode, I can't—"

Chuckles rumbled from all the others. The poor girl did indeed sound like Squidward, lacking but a clarinet to play.

"Ah' don't sound like Squidward!" Brooke rasped, sounding comically like an irritated Squidward berating his fellow sponge and star. They couldn't control the jesting, the Filipina made it too easy for them.

"Look, Brooke— _heh, that rhymed_ —I can't control the laws of the universe," Stella joked, grinning wide, "I'm just the messenger, and I'm telling you right now, you sound like you could use a Krabby Patty," she cackled.

"Shtella, shut thuh' fuck up."

"You like Krabby Patties, don't ya Brooke?" and the girls chuckled as Stella joked, "You're not you when you're hungry, Brooke. Hey, I'll head on down to the Krusty Krab, and you can get all the Krabby Patties you want—" laughs passed around as Brooke took the time to sock the joker in the thigh, earning a yelp for her efforts, ' _OW—!_ chill, man! I'm joking, I'm joking!"

This time, Brooke went along with the chortling, rising in a feverish pitch as Stella nursed the impact, choosing to get off her spot on the bed and walk the pain off, biting a curse back.

"She got you good with that one, didn't she?" Juliet teased, giggling as Stella swore colorfully in German.

" _Gott im Himmel_ —you know what, I change my mind, she's more like Patrick with that fuckin' retard strength she's got—" then a howling of cackles resounded at the jab, and Brooke was in tears from cackling.

That is, until a sob tore through the merriment, silencing the others instantly.

Brooke's shaky hands muffled those sharp cries, and covered her wrenched face and bandage like a shroud. It took a few seconds for a reaction, as the others were stunned by the sudden change in the air. They'd hoped that the jokes and the banter would've perked their poor friend up from her woes. They carefully gathered 'round their friend, and gently pulled her from where she lay on the floor, having slipped from the edge of the bed.

Stella wrapped an arm around one shoulder, and Juliet did the same for the other, keeping the Filipina righted as she emptied her tears into her lap.

"It's not fair—it's not fucking fair," she choked out, shaking with every sob.

"What's not fair, Brooke?" Stella asked, concerned. None of them looked at Brooke as she wept, out of respect.

"They get to— _sniffle_ —fucking do wha'ever they want, they get to hurt who'ever they want, and I fuckin' hate it," labored breaths reigned for a moment, fighting the swell of sadness that tore her heart, "I can't protect anyone, I can't protect you, I can't protect Kate, I can't protect… _Warren_ ," her hands fell from their perch, hot tears coated the palms and gleamed in the light from the window over yonder, the color in Brooke's brown eyes was dimmed by her knit brows. Her head hung low, as if defeated.

"I can't help them. I can't help you. I'm… I can't do _anything_ ," she cried, more burning tears rolled down flustered cheeks and converged at the point of her chin, "I'm useless—"

"No, you're not," Stella side-hugged her, "you ain't useless and you know it."

"It doesn't matter," Brooke muttered, like a tired, broken mantra, "it doesn't matter—"

"Yes, it does matter," Stella talked over her, tightening her embrace, "we're all in this together, remember? All of us, _even you_ , we're fighting back because that's what we outta do, it's all we got."

The faint hum of the air conditioning unit outside sputtered off, only the sniffles remained.

"We're in this together, as a team," Stella continued, "Ain't nothing gonna tear us apart like that, we promised ourselves."

Dana and Alyssa, who sat crisscrossed on the floor beside them, glanced at each other for the slightest of moments before ducking away, ashamed.

"We're gonna get that bastard for his crimes, ain't that right, Jules?" and Juliet perked her head towards Stella, "we're gonna get that fucker, hit 'im right where it hurts, ain't that right?"

"Yeah," Watson replied firmly.

"You see Brooke? All of us gotta fight, or else it'll be for nothing. We can't win if we're all divided."

"…can we even win?" she whispered.

"Of course we can. I know we can. That's the point, Brooke—even if it seems pointless, there's still the ability to try," Taking one hand in hers, Stella held it like a vise, solid and unwavering, "I know I've said it's pointless to be caring to the world, but if we _are_ gonna fight, then we do it for our friends, for our dreams."

_knock-knock-knock_

Five sets of eyes flicked to the door, as dread crept from the depths of their souls. The impossible snapped into possibility: the hounds had broken into the dorm building and were just beyond their shelter, awaiting the moment of bloodshed. Immediately, everyone sans Brooke was up on their feet, slowly converging themselves towards the wooden shield to the outside world. Perhaps if they perked their ears, they'd hear the snickers of those hounds, lapping blood red tongues on jagged teeth, hungry for their pound of flesh.

Juliet pressed further than the others; it was her room, she'd at least face the devil's party with her dignity. Chances are, they'd taken the time to rob the master key from Samuel somehow, or tear the door down themselves if they grew impatient. Yet even with the four's combined strength, they couldn't face those devils outnumbered. It had to be here, in the bottleneck of the threshold, where numbers couldn't decide the difference between being pummeled to death or standing their ground.

_Knock-knock-knock_

A shaky hand reached for the knob, gripping the handle but going no further. The endless possibilities of what would tear them apart swam in the mind and manifested itself to chaos, controlled in the realm of space but terrifying in its reach. Juliet looked over her shoulder at the others, all hunched, all looking to the door, all just as scared as she was.

This was where they'd make their stand.

The knob turned, slowly, every _crick_ of the metal spring tightening was all they could hear, until the bolt had retracted the full length, and with a swift tug, Juliet opened the door.

Emerald green eyes, and naturally arched eyebrows greeted her.

It took a second for the lot of them to realize they weren't face to face with assured death, but rather a pensive Victoria Chase, flanked on both sides by her minions, Taylor and Courtney. And so caught were they in their reverie, that no one had anything to say. All were still as statues.

Victoria eyed something beyond Watson, tilting her head ever the slightest.

"That bandage is not going to hold."

Tracing her gaze, they saw what Victoria noticed first, the bandage upon Brooke's nose was already misshaped, since the girl was itching the damn thing like mad, and the tape was slowly losing its flimsy grip upon skin and peeling off.

"…yeah," Juliet relented, turning again to eye the unwelcome royal at her door, "we got more though."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, we do." came the firm response.

The Queen huffed, "I didn't come here just to say, "I told you so," even if I should," and with a snap of fingers came the cue for her minions. Taylor tugged the sling around her frame, and presented a large bag, with a red cross on a circled white background placed in the center of its opening flap, "We're here to help you."

It was enticing to slap Victoria. Right there, where the slight curve of the cheek reached from ear to chin, where a fine, pristine concoction of the downright contempt Juliet held for the Queen before her would manifest as a burning handprint and leave them be from her conniving plans. But that satchel, there with the assurance of helping one of her friends in need, it held an offer she couldn't ignore. Juliet could hear the slight commotion as the others beckoned Brooke to stop fiddling with the mangled cloth.

It was obvious, what needed to be done.

"…fine. Only one of you inside, the others stay."

A sigh, like Chase really thought Juliet would let her guard down over a bag of meds, before she ordered Taylor with a nod of the head. Christensen hesitated at the order, but took her stride through the door, letting the Queen and her other companion waited patiently with Juliet outside. The door was shut almost to closed, manned by the reporter standing watch, as the rest of her group eased the bloody gauze piece off Brooke's face, tilting the girl's head back on the mattress to keep any blood from dripping again. Taylor slowly walked over, a little driven by apprehensions as the group of peasants eyed her every sleight of hand, slinging the satchel off her shoulder and gently setting it down beside her.

Perhaps they thought she was some devious witch, able to smite them with a flick of the wrist, maybe they were just jealous of how pretty she was; Taylor could only speculate as she got to work, observing the extent of the swelling on the nose. Some mutterings from them picked up in her ears, but she was too focused on the hisses emanating from the wounded girl in her care. Slight brushes of a water-soaked rag ran along bruised flesh and revealed the scope of the damage. It looked like it was tended to a degree of decency, but Taylor needed to be sure.

"Has it been disinfected?" she asked them, hesitantly. She looked to the girl she was most familiar with, Dana, and the auburnette obliged.

"Yeah," Ward answered, "We put the disinfectant on first, then the bandage."

"Alright," Christensen made for the small package of tissues, ripping a piece in two and placing them in Brooke's hands, "go ahead and stuff it in as far as you can."

Heeding her words, the Filipina clotted her nose as the blonde medic fiddled with a proper H-shaped band aid, using a small pair of scissors to cut the piece to fit. Like children gathered round a fire, the girls watched Taylor craft the band aid in her hands, taking the second cut piece of it and layering it upon the first, so that the majority of the adhesive would contact skin.

"Where'd you learn to do that?"

Stella's question gave Taylor pause. The denim blonde glanced at the curious brunette beside her and carefully responded, "My parents. My father works as a nurse at the hospital, and my mother is anemic, so I learned whatever I needed to."

They seemed in awe, like they never thought Taylor was capable of self-thought. It made her feel indignant, yet she remembered that she had not the faintest idea of who these girls were truly like. As far as she had known, they were supposed to be sniveling freaks that spoke in foreign tongues, with silent brutes like Alyssa who could snap a person in half, to the chattering Nazi-goblin like Stella and the promiscuous slut that Dana was made out to be. Yet, here in the dim light of the dorm room, they seemed just as tired as Taylor was, just as real and ordinary as her own close friends.

Perhaps, they felt the same way.

"Damn, that's cool," Stella interjected with a slight smile, before retracting, "I mean, uhm, for you knowing all that, not for your mom, uh—being anemic."

A lighthearted chuckle, "It's fine, I get it."

With a gentle application of pressure, Taylor eased the modified band aid onto the sensitive area, fitting it snug like a glove and covering the entirety of the bruise. Feeling it herself, Brooke silently marveled at it, muttering a quick, ' _thanks_ ,' and pressing the adhesive further, at the protest of her friends.

"…um, Taylor?"

"What?"

Dana hesitated, cautious, "I get why you would help us out, but why—uhm, why is Victoria…?"

"Why is she being helpful instead of being a bitch?"

They succinctly nodded for her to continue, "Well, to be honest with you, I don't exactly know either," and Christensen took a seat on the foldable chair, "I noticed she'd been acting a little weird since Tuesday, but other than that, it's just been same-old since forever."

They seemed disheartened at the lack of an answer.

"If I had to guess, it's probably because of Max."

The name caught their attention this time, "Max?"

"Yeah, Max. The brunette? Always has that messenger bag on her, a bit of a hipster?"

"The same Max that Kate was with yesterday?" Alyssa asked, trying to recall such memory.

"Yeah, it had to be," Dana suggested, "is she close to Victoria, Taylor?"

"No, she isn't. In fact, I'm sure Vic considers her to be a rival of sorts. But she _is_ Vic's partner in that group project Jefferson's doing. I know that they met together at least once, but that's it."

Gathering thoughts, the subsequent pause lasted a moment before Taylor continued, "It shouldn't have come to this," and she sighed, gathering her stuff and placing it back in the bag.

"What do you mean?" inquired Brooke, her voice less nasally inclined and tolerable.

"Victoria didn't want any of this bloodshed. Sure, we obviously didn't like what Juliet said in that article of hers, but we wouldn't straight-up punch someone in the nose over it," Taylor explained, "In the end, it's all just petty, drama-bullshit, and we all know that. I could hardly care less about it all, y'know. But what happened today, I don't like it at all, neither does Victoria and Courtney. I thought Juliet was lying through her teeth, but now, I don't know what to think about Prescott and his mob."

The blonde stood, hoisting the strap upon a shoulder, "There's a rule in the Internationale: one should never instigate violence under any circumstance. If Nathan isn't going to abide by the rules, he might just get kicked out of the club, despite him being the club president."

"I guess we'll see, then," muttered Stella.

With a slight wave and a parting, ' _take care_ ,' Taylor pulled the door open, hinting the three outside that she was done. A lively chat was cut short, as Victoria handed a bottle to the more relaxed Watson, with a nod of understanding the Queen and her aides parted ways, walking towards the exit, presumably going out somewhere in town.

Dana and the others gathered their attention to whatever Juliet held in her hands, and the reporter swung the door closed with the hem of her shoe and clutched the bottle close, cradling it like a newborn. A sly smirk wrung her lips as she turned to their curious looks.

"We're gonna end this shitty day on a good note, ladies," she held it by the neck, a wine bottle a good sixteen inches or so in height, its name some kind of expensive title from the vast golden fields of California. It's dark hue hinted at a red wine, something with a promise to make all their troubles ebb away.

"Now, we enjoy the better parts of life!" a chorus of weary cheers followed the mighty declaration, as Juliet set the wine on the table near the couch, opening a nearby drawer in her closet for a couple plastic cups she kept on hand.

* * *

A/N - End of second arc, will resume in Part Two


	14. Divided We Fall

"Intended or not, we all eventually fall. Say peace and prayers, 'till your lungs fill with dusk's air. Scream! Shout! The end is near; For only the dead have nothing to fear." - Unknown

* * *

They made sure to put everything back to where it originally was before they left. But after a few piss-poor attempts of retying the knot that secured the metal hatch, they had flung the ruined piece of rope into some stacks of hay and hoped to God that Nathan wouldn't notice. And Max couldn't help but feel that terrible, overwhelming anxiety that infected her friends. Like a rotten string of the flu, it metastasized in her lungs and made her short of breath, as her throat was choked shut and her stomach rumbled in agony.

She couldn't tell if it was because she'd missed lunch, or because of the idea that she and her friends were likely to be targeted by some deranged, twisted psychopath.

Chloe hadn't said a word the entire time it took them to retreat from the bunker. Not a word as they made it back to the rusted truck, and not a sound as she'd started the engine and gunned it out of dodge. Even now, even as they reached the outskirts of Arkadia South, neither of the smaller girls dared to speak to their driver. It was true that Max feared Chloe would snap if she said something and get them in a car crash, but every time she looked into Price's muddled blue eyes, she could see the swirling miasma of a storm. It was tearing away the long-established foundations, the many memories held within, and Max could almost see these memories being ripped, and torn to shreds.

And how many times, must she watch her friends crumble to nothing before her very eyes?

Chloe took a right off the main street, turning onto Fern Avenue. The quiet road took them past the town's kindergarten, the church, and then the war museum on their left, with rows of houses passing them on their right. Max looked over to Kate, whose gaze was fixed on the passenger window. While she might not give any indication, Max felt it to be true, that Kate was seeing nothing but what they saw down there, in that silent hell. The blonde was still as stone, seeing through hollowed eyes that looked beyond a thousand yards.

They kept going as the road inclined up the mountain slope, it curving left and guiding them onto the Blackwell campus. The truck's brakes slowed them to an ear-splitting halt at the pick-up/drop-off zone in front of the main quad, where Chloe shifted the gear into park with a jerk of the arm.

The birds could be heard as a flock of them soared from the canopy of the nearby pines, billowing in the wind and heading up into the sky, out of their sight.

"Get out."

Max swiveled her head to Chloe, "…wait, what?"

"Get out. Both of you."

Kate needed no more prompting. Max heard the passenger door click open behind her, and the shuffling of shoes on concrete, yet she didn't move. She didn't want to move.

"Chloe—"

" _Just—!_ " angry curls on fair skin marred the punk's face, for she was so ready to tear her head off, to tear anything off, to _tear_ apart. Her world was tearing apart, so why should the rest of the outside be left to spare as everything she loved was ripped to pieces? So it was with this plea, this one last begging of the olive branch as Price slumped, and sunk her head back onto the chair's headrest, "just go, Max. _Please go._ "

A worried frown was all she received.

Chloe glanced over, and growled, "Max, I'm not gonna fucking kill myself, you know I'm not like that."

"That's not what's worrying me."

"Then what, what is it?" wild ice blue eyes side-eyed the mousy brunette.

"You'll do the next worse thing and get yourself hurt over it."

Chloe looked away and bristled, whether at herself or at Max, she would never tell, "Just give me time, give me space. That's all I need, just some space, that's all, Max. I won't go after that _fucker_ , I promise."

Max said nothing, watching the way her hurting friend's fists flexed and unflexed, how her entire being slightly shivered with each shuddering intake, eyes looking and unseeing.

Those tired, trembling ice blue eyes, wide with fright.

_Lost._

"…alright."

Max slung the strap of her satchel over her shoulder. Edging to the outer seat, she hopped out of the truck, taking one last pleading look to Chloe before she closed the cab door. Chloe never looked back to her as she sped out and down the street, the truck disappearing down the slope and out of sight.

The brunette and the blonde were the only ones out in the courtyard. They saw no one near the fountain, no one enjoying the shade of the trees, no one was seated at the benches and the outside tables. It was as if the entire population had vanished in the time they'd been gone.

_A hollow, empty place._

So Max heaved a sigh, and made for the girls' dorm building, but stopped a few paces in. The lack of a presence by her side made her turn, to see Kate still standing where she'd last gotten out. Marsh was gazing at the sun, as it started blistering into its warming late afternoon routine. A gust of wind rattled the dried leaves across the walkway, likewise swaying the branches and the loose blonde bangs in Kate's poorly kempt bun.

Max took her right hand and tugged, gently.

"Come on, it's cold."

It wasn't that cold, not enough to make them shiver at least. Still did Caulfield coax the girl from her dreamscape, and guide her forward, to the dorms. Kate made no move to yank herself from Max's grip, and followed a step behind the entire way to the corridor, past the gate, into the dorm courtyard. Meandering past a water puddle on the concrete, the two paid no mind to the lone soul beyond the corner of the structure, over by the janitor's office. Ol' Samuel was tending to a squirrel with some small pieces of bread, having apparently finished whatever chore he'd been set out to do. They didn't notice him, and he didn't notice them, and Max pressed forward, pushing the entrance open.

* * *

She trudged through the door to the second floor, trying her hardest to keep the bags of assorted chips and snacks from falling out of the delicate crook of her arms. Steadily, she made her way to her dorm room, when a sudden cacophony of laughter from Room _218_ nearly made her lose hold of her purchased plunder. She could hear the slurred shouting coming from beyond the confines of the room and it left her feeling the slightest bit irritated. It seems that whoever the hell was in Juliet's room was sure as hell having the time of their lives, whatever the hell let them feel the need to bust out the alcohol at this hour sure as _hell_ didn't give her the swell of happiness she felt she deserved.

The desire to bust open their door and rip them a new one was tempting, but Max wasn't going to let her anger get the better of her. Not now, not when she was needed. Her stomach was aching with anticipation.

So she crossed the length of the hall, past the bathrooms, choosing to ignore the caution tape that lied just out of her peripheral and carefully shuffled to her own comfy abode of Room _219_.

Balancing the snacks in the curl of one arm, she reached with a few free fingers for the handle, using her body to push the door open.

"I'm back—" a bag of cool ranch Doritos slipped from its perch and dropped to the floor, "Oh, god—dangit!"

A light chuckle, a bit forced, rung small and weak from the couch, and as Max fumbled for the bag Kate continued to stare, now finding the wall of polaroid shots just above Max's bed to be the most fascinating thing she'd ever had the privilege to witness.

The returning brunette dumped the assortment upon the small table, and went back to close her door and drown out another shrill chorus of laughter from down the hall.

"They seemed riled up," Max exasperated, "I wonder what's got them in such a happy mood."

"It's a balancing act."

Max looked over to the blonde, who sat still, crisscrossed on her couch.

"Kate?"

"It's all a tip of the scale," that withered voice spoke again, "Where we suffer, they rejoice. That's how it is."

Finally, did Marsh bother to look her way. Her eyes, normally a bright, colorful hazel, had morphed into a dulled silver, unblinking. It reminded Max of two days ago, with never-ending tears and shuddering sobs. Of tattered steel helmets and marred, blood-ridden skin draped in a torn uniform. It suddenly brought a sense of panic to her, this kind of silent terror that rots from the inside, like a cancer that cannot be fought by conventional means.

"Sorry, I'm just being a bit of a drama queen," Kate dissuaded, blowing off that sudden swirl of tangible, tremulous turmoil with a wilted cackle.

Max frowned, and said nothing. Kate began fidgeting then, growing nervous.

"Can, uhm…can we just sit and eat?"

Max hated the way Kate shrunk in on herself when asking that, like a child having been awaiting the moment their parents would scorn them, her hands gripping the pillow in her lap, eyes darting everywhere and nowhere, "...sure, Kate."

So she took a seat next to her friend, and dug into a couple of granola bars that she liked. It was a wonderful thing, to take her mind off of the stress and be rid of the hunger pains, so much so that she almost missed how Kate wasn't reaching for any of the snacks on the table. Quickly did Caulfield finish the granola bar in her hand. With an asking look she took the blonde's right hand, silent in its support. Kate didn't mind, or at least made no move to retract.

Marsh hesitated, opening and clamping her mouth shut, yet still Max was patient, for even as the minutes carried on into silence, she waited.

"I…don't know what to feel."

"…what's the...the most prominent thing, that you feel?" Max asked, now looking towards the wall of photos but still listening.

"Fear," said the small voice beside her.

Max glanced back, and saw Kate's eyes glimmer with tears.

"I just feel this…this _thing_ , in my chest. I can't get it out—"

Marsh reached for one of the bags of chips on the table, the spiciest of the bunch: the Flamin' hot Cheetos. With a bit of a shiver in her hands she opened the bag, taking a piece and stuffing it between her taut lips. Anxious breaths became more laxed as Kate laid back on the couch.

"I can't believe he would…that he'd…" it diminished to a whimper, then, with a rough clearing of the throat, "he couldn't have done that to Rachel, could he?"

Max understood, "I'm not sure, Kate. She's been gone for six months, no one's seen her around town. I don't want to think he…that he killed her, but…I don't know."

Another chip. Then a second, and then a third, as the never-ending _crunch_ of chips being torn to pieces by chattering molars ceased to end. The weight in Kate's heart wouldn't leave her be.

'I didn't even know her that much—it was all word of mouth, all the horrid things people said about her. And I never saw her much, besides the posters," another Cheeto pulled from the bag, "I always wondered what she was like. If she was like me. If she was different."

Max had thought about such, too. Chloe had always put in her two-cents of praise for whoever Rachel was, what she did, yet everyone else either hated her or were too indifferent to Amber's plight. Caulfield recalled the scratchings that were adorned on select desks in the classrooms, where some student— _maybe more_ —of unknown origin gave such insightful commentary about whatever Rachel had been rumored to have done, whether it involved her private life or something concerning her alleged physique.

Whatever it meant, it was nothing to the fact that she was missing, likely six feet under. While not an undoubtable certainty, the chances were far too high, there was too much writing on the wall. There was too much splotchy red paint on the drywall, that which dreadfully stuck out in their minds.

_No one fucks with me, bitch._

The crunching grew near unbearable, as Kate was taking two, three pieces at a time now. It was indeed a race, to see how many Marsh could stuff into her gut before she hacked them back up in an anxious spew. She was losing herself to her terror.

"I-I still don't remember much— _crunch_ —a-about last weekend. The party. But that, that _place_ ," with its lights, its bright white lights that blurred the lines of the black tiles of its ceiling. Another chip into the mouth, the spice that was burning and searing taste buds served as a wonderful distraction to the stinging of the memory, "and the lights, I remember the lights. I thought I was in the hospital— _crunch_ —I remember the voices. They were gentle, soft— _crunch_ —like a doctor's— _crunch_ —so soft, so kind."

A shaky left hand, its end-digits smudged in red spice, brought another piece to savor, even as the flavor grew dull and the pains seemed to mix unto each other, to where she wiped her runny nose with the back of the hand.

Max gave her other a firm squeeze, worried it wasn't enough to ground the spiraling blonde, "Kate, you should slow down—"

Kate did not slow down.

The hand reached into the bag, addicted, for even the dull throbbing of a seared tongue and sore gums was better than that terrifying realization. And it seemed silly then, that she could bury that truth in processed cornstarch and chili pepper, but damn it all if she couldn't just have this one last semblance of control—

"Kate, stop."

She didn't want to stop. She wouldn't stop. She had gone too far and walked into the silent abyss, where even the Devil had cowered in fear, of being heard by the denizen of that dark abode. She could not stop her decent now. Not if she even wanted to.

Already her eyes stung with salty spite, and she could hear nothing but her own breathing, shaky and unstable.

So Kate clung to the addictive pleasures of the Cheetos, that which has kept her calm until now. It didn't matter that the descent to madness was inevitable, what mattered was that she could justly blame it on the chips and not how absolutely, horrifyingly close she had been to—

Max's attempt to seize the precious lifeline to her peril was thwarted as Kate curled on her precious sustenance, snarling. The sniffling blonde shuffled away from her friend, desperate to get away.

"Kate, listen to me, please—!" It was petty, Marsh knew that much, but she could not bother with understanding the complexities of conversation. That time had been tossed away once she agreed to open up her heart. Now, it was the simple things in life that garnered a more appealing sense like the feeling of tearing on spice-scorched gums and being left alone to deal with another breakdown, it was like a dream come true. So she shirked away from Max, backing out of the brunette's worried reach.

Until her foot caught on one of the table's legs, and Kate tripped, the bag flying out of her clutches as she fell.

For some seconds after her head bounced off the rough carpet, Kate laid there, on the floor. She held no strength left in herself—she imagined that this fate that befell her was just, then. And voices were singing in her head, voices not of her own, singing and cackling and smiling with terrible delight. Like Chloe with her sharp tongue, like her mother with her eternal scorn against her, like that rotten old hag of an aunt that hates her for a reason she could not fathom. Even Victoria's promise brought her a feeling of justly-deserved guilt, yet it shouldn't have been necessary to begin with. She can still see the blood that tainted her bunny's alabaster-white fur, she could still see Alice's lifeless little eyes.

_You are being a coward._

The voices grew louder, loud enough to drown out whatever Max was saying to her. Kate couldn't see much past the tears, but Max was hovering over her, a blurred shape that was saying _something_ to her, but she couldn't decipher it. Those terrible voices jumbled the audible sounds that rung in her ears and mangled them, distorting them into their own instrument of torture, and she should've known such a thing would come. It was doomed to be, like that which was spoken of the day of judgement, the inevitability of the coming of the Lord and his terrible, swift sword.

_You are a coward._

The blur that was Max faded away, and Kate thought that perhaps now, her time had come, that she was being punished for being the impotent child she'd turned out to be the past few days. Not only could she not stand up for herself, she couldn't stand up for her friends, for those she cared for, that cared about _her_.

_You are weak._

These friends and relatives treaded the earth with harsher struggles than what she carried, yet still she couldn't bother to grow a spine or tougher skin. Perhaps God had grown tired of her just like the rest of them, grown so tired of her thinking she was an example of humility only to end up being a haughty, pretentious child, useless in her own defense and likewise in other aspects.

Did she feel justified in being weak, in being a coward, right now, in this very moment, because of how close she had been to assured death?

_Stop being a coward, stop being weak._

The world was hazy and spinning. It had to be the Cheetos. Maybe Max was onto something. Perhaps she'd gone overboard with how many she ate. Why wasn't that god-awful feeling in her chest going away? Wait, where the hell was the bag?

Kate tried to discern where the bag had disappeared from where it would've landed, and instead realized that it was on the table, discerned as a red-orange blotch of color amongst other lighter shades, like a watercolor painting.

Oh Lord, she was feeling horrible. Her entire being was burning. Her cranium boiled, having been pressure-cooked from the jumble of thoughts that swirled within. The nerves in her arms and legs were sure to be splayed, and a wave of nausea washed over her and rippled her tightening stomach. It was too stuffy, she needed to get out of this _stuffy_ room and cool off, but she didn't want to move. The minimal effort to keep herself from passing out was getting to be too much. Kate's nose ran in rivulets upon her upper lip, she could only tell because it was cooling on blistering hot skin.

Gentle hands curled around her shaking frame, and brought her to a sitting position, with her back against an arm of the couch. A tissue, pulled from the fabric of nowhere, was placed upon her face, wiping away the tears and then the mucus. An arm looped round her nape, cool and inviting, and Kate was pulled close into another being's embrace. It was only now, did she realize that her muscles were tensed, and a migraine was brewing as she unfurled the tension that had beset her eyebrows.

"It's okay, I'm right here, I'm right here Kate," the voice cooed in her ear, soothing, like that of an angel's.

Kate sobbed.

The sobs bubbled and pushed their way through her clenched throat, that which was inflamed shut and painfully stung every time she swallowed.

_Face your fears._

"H-he was gonna—he was gonna get me, Max," Kate choked out, Max's free hand running itself through greasy blonde locks and rubbing gentle circles on her scalp, "he was gonna k-kill me, he was gonna take me when nobody would notice—"

"But he didn't."

The nausea dissipated, but the tears remained.

"But he didn't, and that's what counts," Max repeated, holding the blonde close.

"He'll try it again," Kate sniffled.

"No, he won't. Not if I can help it, not if Chloe and David can help it."

Kate didn't respond. She closed her eyes, suddenly so exhausted.

"That's the thing, Kate; sometimes, all that matters is that we're all alive, and that we're all here," Max whispered, "sometimes, it's all we can do."

"God's grace," bloodshot hazel eyes looked up at the plaster ceiling, as if the Overman himself would descend before them, localized to their plight and no one else. She knew God didn't work like that anymore, but it was a personal comfort, to think that she was special, that her friends would be guarded by the immortal prowess of the Lord.

Her friends. Friends that she cared for, and that cared for her too.

Fresh hot tears trailed down flustered flesh as Kate basked in this feeling of being cared for. Such a swell of emotion rolled over her heart and brought with it an overwhelming desire to love. It was that kind of love that existed in the realm of the platonic, excluded, more so beyond from its more intimate counterpart. This satisfaction that goes beyond what could be understood or described; that feeling of envy she feels at seeing others with such strong bonds. Kate imagines in the wildest depths of her mind the feeling of soldier men she'd seen on television, who never pardon nor condemn their fellow brothers, who hold no doubts towards what they'd sacrifice for one of their own. It was merely the glimpse of such the sacrifice that Christ had suffered, to ensure that some semblance of humanity would live in the Father's divinity.

Loyalty.

Her Honor was called Loyalty.

_Be the victor, not the victim._

So Kate gently pulled out of Max's embrace, and looked to those tired blue eyes that shared her sentiment. And such was the mutual understanding between the like-minded, that this unspoken agreement, this pact that their friendship was founded upon. That through the hardships of the world, every strife and sounding of the chime, that they will endure.

Kate clumsily smiled, and Max smiled back.

_God bless you, Max._

A muffled buzzing sounded. With a curious glance down and a swift tug, the brunette pulled her switch phone out her pocket, checking for the notification.

"Max?"

"It's Chloe," she replied, but Max was too absorbed in whatever Chloe had sent her to explain further. It seemed that whatever it was, it brought a worrying frown to Max's features, leaving Kate stumped out of her reverie.

The world was calling for them again.

"What'd she say?" Kate asked.

"She's at the junkyard, that's all I can tell," then Max was up and off the floor, reaching for the satchel that was placed on her bedside, "if I had to guess, she wants me— _us_ , to go help her with something."

"…how would we get to the junkyard?"

"That's the thing, I don't know," Max slung the satchel over her shoulder, "I'm guessing we'd have to walk there…those transit busses that pass by will stop at the northern edge of town, at least."

"You should go."

Max stopped fiddling with the zipper on her gray hoodie, "huh?"

"You should go," Kate said, "You mean more to her than I do."

It was meant to placate her friend, yet Kate only made her more concerned, "Are you sure?"

"I'll be alright, Max. Besides, we need to make sure that David knows we didn't just disappear, I'm going to head over to Chloe's house before curfew."

Max seemed rushed, so she quickly nodded and flicked her thumbs on the phone's little keyboard, blitzing a text to Chloe and moving for the door.

"If you insist," Max opened the door, stopping at the frame and looking back to Kate, "be safe, okay? We should be back soon, so text me if you need anything."

"You too, Max," Marsh promised, "I'll meet you back at Chloe's house."

One last look around her room preceded Max as she closed the door, leaving Kate to sit content, with all the snacks she could eat as of now. She eyed the bag of Cheetos distastefully, settling on a spare granola bar right beside it.

Her iPhone's ringer sounded from the depths of her purse. She had an incoming call.

* * *

The sky grew evermore dim, slowly, as surely as the sun treaded the last of its time in the expanse above.

And with a huff, Max expelled the exhaustion she was feeling at the sight of the rusted truck, parked just outside the perimeter of the junkyard. Easing to a walking pace, she pinched the hem of her shirt collar and vented the heat trapped within. Regret over not taking off her now scratchy hoodie sooner plagued her mind and scratched at her arms, the gritty cotton rubbing against sensitive skin.

So much for comfort.

She shrugs the grey hoodie off, and slings it over a shoulder, treading towards the truck. It's engine was silent, and no one was present in the cabin. A lone black leather jacket lay in the passenger's seat. Max moved onwards, trodding to the entrance of the yard, and halted.

_Holes._

Everywhere, lining the walkways and sometimes impeding the paths, were freshly dug holes, at least a foot deep and puncturing the earth like inverted cones. Max carefully stepped further in, slowly, each step placed with precision and with her head on a swivel. This had to be Chloe's doing.

Right?

Max didn't know for sure, and slowly pushed on, keeping from tripping on the upturned ground.

The smell of damp earth flared with intensity as she pressed on, past the first few rusted, burned out husks of cars, to the fork in the path, one way leading onward to the concrete hideout and the other leading left, to where they had encountered Frank before.

There was a path untraveled, even father to the left flank, to an unexplored corner of the yard, past the dilapidated school bus, past the upturned shell of a fishing boat. There came the _shunk_ of a shovel against the dirt, a heaving, a pause, and then a _shunk_ once again. Max edged closer, stepping through the hopscotch of holes.

"Chloe?"

Price turned her head, enough to look through her dull-blue bangs and no more. In her hands, clutched still with dried dirty fingers, was a shovel. She tossed the dirt still carried on the spade, and slammed the blade into the earth again, standing up. Sweat glistened on bare, slightly burned pale skin, as the white tank-top clung to the curve of Chloe's shoulders.

"Chloe, how long have you been out here?"

"Not long enough," she eventually replied, stepping off and reaching into a mound of debris. With a bit of a tug, she pulled another shovel, it's wooden body rotted in some places and the metal a tarnished hue of brown, "Didn't find this guy 'till like, five minutes ago, so that's got me feeling pretty wondrous right about now."

_The shovel, from the photo._

Chloe got right back to what she was working on: another hole, another attempt, one of many. Max noted that the hole Chloe dug was larger, deeper, bigger than the ones leading up to the clearing. For Chloe had not a care in the world for anything else, not for the dirt that marred the lower hem of jeans and that caked her boots.

Chloe suddenly stopped shoveling, and looked over her shoulder, "Well, the hell are you waiting for?"

Jerked from her thoughts, Max unslung her satchel, setting it on the ground nearby along with her hurriedly folded grey hoodie. She walked up to Price, still toiling to her labor. Her pace had been slow, but it was methodical, like a machine running on fumes and the unwavering, boiling bundle of hurt that lied within.

"The bathroom."

Chloe paused again, confused, "What about the bathroom?"

"You didn't just go in there to talk to Nathan, didn't you?" It was jarring that the mousy brunette had let this slip her mind, even with her track record of being forgetful.

Chloe didn't bother gracing her with an answer, rather did she glare. For a few seconds, she glared.

"Help me dig," she finally said, then she reached over and tossed the old shovel at Max's feet, saying nothing more.

"Chloe, what were you even doing in there? What were you two even talking about?"

"None of your fucking business, that's what."

Max frowned.

"Nathan was giving you money for _some_ reason."

Chloe's shoveling grew more brash, slicing into the earth.

"He was threatening you," Max postulated, recalling what happened.

"I asked you to help me," the punk snipped, "not tell me something I already know."

"But I don't know, I want to know, I need to know."

"It's a waste of time."

Max frowned, "You being threatened by the same guy who kidnapped Rachel is not a waste of time."

"It doesn't fucking matter, Max," Chloe was done with the hole, so she pulled herself from the shallow depth and lined her shovel vertical to an untouched patch of ground, "what matters is that we make sure she's _alive_ —" she slammed her boot down at the last word, burying the spade into the dirt.

"You're alive, too. Yet you're telling me you don't matter."

"What do you want me to say, Max?" Chloe pleaded, planting the shovel into the first marking of the hole, "What is it I gotta say for you to drop this?"

"Tell me why you met up with him."

"Why do you need to know?! It's not like it's gonna fucking help us!" Chloe shouted, angry. She rounded on Max and stared down from her full height.

"It's not meant to help us. It's to keep it from hurting us, like it's hurting you."

"I ain't fucking broken, Max," Chloe hissed, "it's bad enough having David-fucking-Douchnozzle telling me that, but now you wanna call me that too?"

"I'm not trying to be an asshole, I just want to help—"

"You can _help_ by taking a shovel and helping me dig!" and Chloe shoves the rotting tool into Max's hands, stomping back to her own and adamant on carving another hole.

"Dig for what? For Rachel, for you?" Max countered.

"For something!"

Max shakes her head, and drops the shovel, "You've been out here for hours digging for something you're not even sure about."

Chloe struck the earth with a growl, flinging earth in a frantic flail.

"Chloe, please, just tell me."

She kept digging.

"Chloe, stop."

Price pushed harder, faster, wishing she could tear the unyielding swath of ground with her bare hands. Max had approached her, cautiously, avoiding the violent swings of the punk's lanky arms and specs of flying dirt. Compelled, Max latched herself to Chloe, wrapping her arms around the girl's torso, tugging with all her might.

"Chloe, stop—!"

_Shhin—thuNK_

Whatever the metal spade had hit, it had hit pretty hard, for a tremor ran up Chloe's arms from the sudden friction. And lifting the dirt from its place, they leaned in, eyeing the discoloration.

Then the smell hit them.

That foul, acrid smell of overbearing rot pierced their nostrils and sent them recoiling, and the shovel clattered to the ground as they tucked their arms up to block the stench, " _Oh, fucking Christ—_!"

After coughing out the odor, they edged towards its source, and amidst the churned earth they spotted something unnatural. A sort of off-white streak, almost shining compared to the darkened dirt surrounding it.

Bone.

They were looking at the narrow length of a bone.

Max watched as Chloe collapsed to the ground, as there was no strength left in her to continue standing. Uncaring, the bluenette dug around the offending pale streak, clumps of moist earth clinging to dirt-covered hands. She was coughing, and sobbing so desperately, but she just wanted to make sure—

Max hooked her arms under Chloe by the armpits, but the only thing impeding her from yanking Price away was how much dead weight the girl was. Max pulled her close, nevertheless.

Price had gotten far for what it was worth, and now there was a clear shape to the rotting mass. The dirt surrounding the decay was caked on like another layer of skin, tainted darker with what could only be blood and rotted tissue. If Max looked close enough, she could see a slight piece of flannel cloth sticking out, discolored and tattered, barely holding together.

It seemed then that Chloe noticed it as well, for she hung limp in Max's grip, lost to tears.

" _Rach'l—_ " Chloe choked out, it was the only word she could sound beyond pitiful sobs. Max held onto her as the bluenette seized up, curling.

Neither heard the slight shuffle of footsteps.

A sudden stinging pain erupted on the back of Max's neck, and she instinctually reached a hand to her nape with a jolt, "What the… _hell—_?"

The world lost its rigidity and spun, and a feeling of terrible vertigo fell upon Caulfield as she slumped on her side. The world was vertical: the ground harshly cradled her left, the expanse of the sky domineered her right.

She thinks someone was calling out her name, but her hearing grew muffled, dimming just as quickly as her vision. Fighting the drowsiness, she tried to hoist herself up, getting as far as laying on her back before her muscles betrayed her.

A lone figure stared down at her. The last, dying rays of sunlight glared off of their sharp spectacles, obscuring their face with blinding light.

Max saw nothing more.

* * *

A/N - Even in the depths of your misery, should you never, _under any circumstance_ , let yourself believe that you are weak, or cowardly, or doomed. For he who truly believes he is dead, has either accepted his fate, or has resigned himself to a fate he never wished for. Be the victor, _never_ the victim.


	15. Lost, Never to be Found

"And what terror you knew then, shall become nothing to what awaits you now." - Unknown

* * *

She hesitated. Her iPhone felt heavy in her hands, its weight strained with the intangible dread that came from every hum of the phone's ringer. So with a tentative press, she initiated the call, and nervously brought her phone up to her ear.

"Hello?"

" _Hey, Katie dear, how's my little angel?_ "

Her fears of being met with the stern, scornful ire of her mother were dashed at the moment her father, Richard Marsh, warmly greeted her.

"Hey Dad. I'm uh—I'm doing alright," she greeted back, relieved.

" _That's good to hear, kiddo. Well, I'd like to apologize for taking so long to call you, we've been busy on our end—_ " and that horrible weight settled in Kate's heart, for he had to be talking about the rumors, and their opinions about her actions, " _—and only now have those punks decided we were too much to handle,_ " he chuckled out.

Relief flooded her again. He was talking about the couple of delinquents that lived in the same Spokane neighborhood as the Marshes, who'd been after her family's homegrown vegetable garden since she had first learned to walk.

She chuckled with him, "That's good to hear, Dad."

He took his time with the next part, and Kate imagined him looking over the living room where the landline was, observing the old forty inch television that stood over the long dormant brick fireplace, and the soft fabric of the large couch facing it, along with her father's leather recliner off to its side. Maybe her sisters were in the kitchen even farther back, toiling over who was going to get the larger serving of steak when dinnertime comes 'round.

" _I've been meaning to tell you, and I'm sure your mother's been meaning to tell you as well, but you know how high-strung she is—_ " and Kate recalls a time where her mother had swacked her on the back of the head when she'd accidentally knocked the last bottle of the woman's favorite wine, having left a blooming spray of the alcohol on the tile floor, " _—so I figured you'd want to hear it from me first,_ " he more asked her than told her, but she wasn't to complain.

"Of course," she sat down on Max's bed.

" _Well,_ " he began, " _your mother and I have been talking, and…we think that it'd be best if you came back home—_ "

"No."

He stuttered from the immediate interruption, then sighed.

" _Katie, please—_ "

"I don't want to go," it suddenly felt like she'd been doomed to a path she couldn't mend.

Perhaps he was just as anxious as she was, as he paused for a second before continuing, " _I'm sorry kiddo, but your mother is adamant about bringing you home_ ," he sighed again, " _I can't blame her about it, either. We all miss you, Kate_. _We're all worried about you._ "

"I don't want to go," she repeated, standing and pacing, the guilt swelled in her stomach and flared with a sudden pain in her head. She knew he meant well, she knew her sisters had her in their hearts and their prayers, but all she could think of was her mother's terrible scowl, looming over her, "I can manage being by myself here, Dad, I swear it."

" _Are you sure?_ " and he sounded like he always did, like he wanted to trust her, and she wanted to tell him that he was right to do so.

Yet, she hesitated.

How much was she going to risk by staying away from her family, if it meant she'd not have to see her spite-spitting mother and aunt? On the other hand, how much was she going to gain from distancing herself, if it meant turning down any near hope of seeing her father and sisters, her last semblance of a supporting family?

The double-edged sword struck Kate in the heart and left her feeling lost, unsure. She could not be unsure about this, it wouldn't do.

" _You still there, kiddo?_ "

"…yeah."

She imagined the worried wrinkles that lined her father's eyes, once a bright, shining hazel like hers, weathered and worn from age. Those wrinkles that trailed to the sides of slightly chapped lips that made him look older than he was. So much so, that she remembered how whenever he smiled, it looked like the world had battered him crooked.

" _Why do you still want to stay, Katie?_ "

"I have friends here, Dad. Good friends. They're looking out for me whenever they can, and I trust them."

" _Can they keep you safe from whoever trashed that dorm room?_ "

Panic turned her to a statue, "Wait, what?"

" _We got an email from Blackwell regarding an incident at the dorms, 'tis why your mother was adamant about bringing you home. Seemed a little off the usual all-right, but they mentioned something about a break-in, and how they would be upping security_."

They don't know who, thank God!

Kate breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Oh, yeah, that—yeah, my friends and I will stay safe, Dad."

He paused. Worry grew for every second he didn't speak, and Kate takes a seat once again and bounces a knee in anxious fervor.

" _Can you take care of yourself, Kate?_ "

"Yes."

The more she thought about it, the more her head began to spin again. She knew what was coming if she didn't stop. Scared, she looked over to the table, the crumpled bag of Cheetos sat there, taunting her.

" _Are you sure?_ " he clarified, cautious.

Keep lying to him, he'll feel horrible if you don't.

" _Are you sure, Katie?_ "

Don't lie to him, he'll feel worse if he finds out you lied to him!

Kate decided, "..yes, Dad. I can take care of myself. I will be alright, I promise."

Her heart was the drum that beat so loudly in her ears in the silence that followed.

"… _well, alright, then. I'll talk to your mother. See if she'll reconsider coming down._ "

She should be happy about that. She didn't smile.

" _I'd hoped that we would all get to see you soon, but I suppose we'll come around to that sometime in the future_ ," and as if he just remembered, Richard sputtered reminiscently, " _Now, do you remember the stories that Uncle Riley used to tell you?_ "

Of course she did. She remembered the stories of ol' Uncle Riley on her father's side of the family, and of all his experiences during the Troubles in Belfast.

She nodded, then shook her head incredulously, "Yeah, yeah, I remember."

" _You know then, that ol' phrase he used to say, whenever you're down—_ "

"Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag, and smile, smile, smile~" Kate hummed, smiling the slightest. It was the last of her memories with her Uncle, but it was a good memory, at least.

" _Remember to keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and the spirit of Blighty closest to your heart,_ " her father chimed nostalgically, " _Well, I ought to let you go, I've kept you long enough—I imagine you've got homework to do._ "

She hadn't even touched the assignments Max had gotten for her on Wednesday.

"Yeah, I do."

" _It was nice hearing from you, kiddo,_ " he says, genuine, " _We all miss you._ "

"I miss you too, Dad," and the tug on her heartstrings grew prominent with that.

Some noise came from beyond where Richard was, enough to garner his attention, " _Wait, what—? Yeah, it's Kate—oh, of course._ "

He whispered, " _Lynn wants to talk to you, she's got some good news to share. 'Love you Katie._ "

"I love you, Dad," she whispered back.

Some shuffling from the mic, and Kate was now smiling knowingly before Lynn's chipper tone broke through the pause, " _Hey sis!_ "

"Hey, Lynn. How's it going?"

" _I had a soccer game earlier today and we won, we beat 'em by one point in the last half! Dad drove us to that Baskin' Robbins down the road and got me a whole pint of ice cream,_ " and the sheer joy of her ten-year old sister's voice was loud, so loud and happy and long forgotten to her ears, that Kate smiled infectiously, " _and now my friends from school are gonna stay the night, and we're gonna make cookies and watch movies and it's gonna be the best!_ "

"Oh, you don't have school tomorrow?"

" _There's an assembly, so that means I don't really have to go to school until ten,_ " Lynn excitedly explained, " _I told Mum, and she got all cranky, she said that I needed to keep my grades up, but I showed her and Dad my report card and he says I can stay up tonight!_ "

Kate's smile bloomed.

"That's good to hear, Lynn," she positively hummed.

" _And biggest sis, Caitlyn, she said that she's gonna spend winter break with us like last year, so that means you gotta be here too—I wanna watch all the Christmas movies together,_ " Lynn was a bundle of energy, untamed and unabated by physical exertion. A bright, shining light in this world of dim and dark.

Kate concluded that if she got to make her youngest sister happy, it would be worth whatever ire her mother and aunt had in store.

"I'll come up during winter break, Lynn. I promise."

" _Pinky promise?_ " and Kate could imagine Lynn's free hand, pinkie extended like a cute curtsey, awaiting the seal of that formidable oath. So instinctually, she raised her own free hand, mimicking the image in her head and swearing, "I pinky promise."

Lynn cheered, bright and hopeful, and Kate was struck with a wave of sudden emotion, tears stung such salty sorrow and welled in the corners of her eyes. For she thought of the times of homemade hot chocolate with little marshmallows floating on top, and watching Frosty the Snowman, and being wrapped with that thick, soft-as-the-heavens blanket her grandmother had gifted her before passing on. She thought of her second home, so, so far away.

" _I gotta go, Mum's gonna get mad again if I miss out on chores—_ " some background noise then came from beyond, probably their mother was getting all crabby over why the table isn't set for dinnertime, " _I love you sis, I can't wait to see you,_ " her younger sister chirped.

"I love you too, Lynn, I'll see you soon," Kate promised, and reluctantly ended the call. She brushed a stray tear spilling from her glassy eyes.

* * *

As the light slowly dimmed from the blinds of Max's dorm room, the shadows crept along the carpet and up the walls. The hum of the air conditioning unit outside was all that could be heard in such a peaceful chamber. Upon the mattress, there stood a black backpack, perched vigilantly as if waiting for its owner to finish tending to something.

The door opened, and said owner stumbled in, her hair fluffy from having finished her shower and drying. She was donned with fresh attire, a grey plain t-shirt with the small golden cross necklace framed upon her bosom, itself shrouded over an unzipped thick olive-drab hoodie, slightly too long on the sleeves. Another pair of loose-fitting jeans were adorned, these a deeper navy blue and long enough to cover her sock-covered soles.

While security had sealed her dorm room's door with caution tape, they didn't bother to lock it. Perhaps they were awaiting the officials more suited in crime-scene investigations or were too underpaid to care for intruders. Either way, Kate had snuck into her trashed room, avoiding the terror-inducing mess around her, and had snatched another full set of clothes.

She'd need to be quick about this, as the light was dimming evermore and soon the ABPD would be patrolling the town post-curfew, and she didn't want to deal with the hassle of talking her way out of an interrogation.

Taking her tightly folded olive blanket, she stuffed it at the bottom of the backpack, this was followed by her pillow, folded in half and taking up most of the space. Kate topped it off with her purse, pushing it down so that the zipper would close over the top. The clothes took up another pocket in the backpack, squished from its now bloated midsection.

Time to go.

She fiddled on her worn, but trusty pair of black tennis shoes, slinging the black backpack upon her shoulders, then stepping out of the room and moving swiftly down the hall.

Passing the lively confines of Juliet's room, Kate thought to at least check up on them, but thought better of such. They've been isolated enough to make it too awkward, and _stop dawdling, the light's going out, you gotta move—_

Skirting down the stair steps, the blonde rushed for the entrance of the dorm building and half tripped, half ducked as a silhouette showed itself from the other side of the little glass window, passing by the doors. She crawled on hands and knees and nudged herself into the corner of the wall and the door. The cap that the figure wore gave away their identity: a security guard, and definitely not Madsen if their skinnier build was anything to go by.

In the absence of interior light within the dorm building compared to outside, Kate pulled herself up and peeked through the window, observing the guard make his circle around the concrete paths of the dorm courtyard, a baton was being twirled in his hand.

There was no way she'd get past him. If she tried to open the door, the click of the bolt would definitely alert him—if she tried it slowly, she wouldn't get to a hiding spot in time, if there even were any near the door. If she tried to talk her way past him, he'll be automatically suspicious of why she'd want to leave, never mind the possibility of him being one of the guards under Prescott's thumb.

But he seemed distracted enough, as his attention was on the pines that stood beyond the brick perimeter of the campus, rising higher with the mountain. Maybe, if luck was on her side, she could take the risk—

The interior lights suddenly turned on, and Kate flinched, ducking again and controlling her pounding heart. She feared that the guard had noticed her peeking, and held still, fearful he'd be coming back towards the doors. Yet curiosity was getting to her. What if he wasn't? Perhaps he was oblivious and still looking at the trees, and she had a chance to escape.

Tilting her head so that only her left eye would be able to see, Kate _slowly_ edged back up to the window—

_He'sfacingthedoorohshi—_

She ducked again, terrified, with a hand clasped over her mouth as the muffled sound of footsteps came closer, barely audible in the silence and that ambient hum of the lights. Clasping her legs close, she willed herself to mend with the wall, hoping that whoever it was wouldn't be smart enough to look where she hid.

She could hear the slight drumming of boots on concrete, stomping closer, and closer, now they stood inches from the door. She eyed the window, barely visible from her spot on the ground, and imagined the guard looking inside, eyes scanning for a disturbance, a slight detail amiss.

Kate held her breath, and silently prayed.

A muffled pitch of static sounded, what she assumed to be the guard's radio crackled to life. Mumbled jargon flowed through and he listened, and with a muttered reply he about-faced, and marched off, away from the doors.

She waited a good five seconds before she rose for the third time, daring another look into the outside and seeing nobody. Slowly, she depressed the bar, the bolt retracting with a _click_ and she pushed the door open, pressing on into the cold. The slight gust was still there, but now it carried a biting chill to it, trying to pierce the warmth harbored in her hoodie, so she fiddled the zipper closed.

Kate trekked as quietly as possible, the jostle of the zipper pins on her backpack now seemed to jingle with an amplified ring as she made it to the gate, peeking down the corridor.

No one.

She tiptoed as fast as she dared, choosing to bypass the steps leading to the quad, and heading all the way to where it opens out into the street. To her immediate right, there was the sidewalk that hugged the street, and the small incline of the grassy earth that leveled out to the quad on its right. She could see the short flights of steps down the length of the sidewalk that would take her up toward the fountain, along with the few large pines not cleared from the quad that were lit by the outside lamps.

The guard from earlier was lightly jogging his way past the front of the main building, passing the length of it and marching behind the back corner of the gym building, heading in the direction of the boy's dorms. Kate wondered what kind of miracle allowed her this chance, but didn't ponder long. So ducking as low as comfortably possible while upright, she trotted down the sidewalk, hidden by the dimming sunlight and the shadows of the trees.

The patter of her shoes on concrete and the god-awful zipper pins made her slightly cringe, yet she pressed on, past the courtyard, past the front of the gym building, and approaching the entrance to the school parking lot. From there, it was a straight shot down the slope 'till she'd arrive at the house—

_phiiiIEE— **BOOM**_

Kate jumped from the thunderous sound, and looked to the bright aftermath of a firework erupting above the silhouette of the boy's dorms. Some faint shouting followed, so miniscule to the figurative clap of thunder.

_By God, what was going on?_

She's overstayed her time here, she had to go now—

A hand, coated with a damp piece of cloth, clamped upon her mouth and she screamed, flailing against the intruding form of another person suddenly behind her. Whoever they were, they were stronger than she was, and had an arm wrapped around her middle that roughly held her close. They hunched themselves into her, squishing the backpack between them. A wild strike from her elbow into their side earned her the space to wrench herself from their grasp. A rough, baritone growl sounded behind as she clumsily sprinted, running with all her might down the pavement, really wishing that she'd just toss the backpack but now was _not_ the time to think—

Her head lost track of which foot to put first, overcome with an unnatural dizziness, and she stumbled, tripping over her own momentum and skidding onto the cold, scratching embrace of the sidewalk. She willed her arms to push her up, to get away, please get away they're coming, _quick_ , while there's still a chance—

A kick to her side brought her angled up, and the rag hand roughly grabbed her face again, persistent and oppressive. Kate weakly grabbed at the offending arm, willing it away from her, yet her side stung with an oncoming rash and her mind was faltering to black. And even now, face to face with her assailant, all she saw was the blur of an arm then raised over their head.

The shock of a fist slammed into her left cheekbone, knocking her out.

* * *

The world rumbled, shaking her from her dreamless slumber. With that faint strength she opened weary eyes, and saw that she was in the dark, cold cabin of a vehicle. The entire left side of her face was throbbing so terribly, as any twitch of the mouth left her in agony. She felt the need to touch the pained flesh to evaluate the damage, but her arms wouldn't respond. They hung at her sides, limp, with her hands curled close in her lap, from her laxed spot in the passenger seat. While Kate might not entirely control herself, she could control her eyes, and looked to the driver's seat beside her, seeing an arm clutch the steering wheel. The rest of this unknown person was shrouded in the darkness, out of her peripheral.

With what she could see out of the windshield, the sun had completely set, and now the night reigned once again. The lights of the car—or perhaps, truck—illuminated the trunks of the pine trees surrounding them, and those pines loomed above the path they drove.

They were in the forest, Kate realized.

Her and her apparent kidnapper were in the forest. In their truck. Alone.

_Oh God—!_

Yet Kate held in her panic, and slowly moved her head around, just enough to determine her surroundings. Turning, slowly, she looked to the driver, to the outline that came from the dash lights. It was a male, with slicked-back hair and donned with a thick, dark jacket. Its design was specific though, a letterman's jacket, red with white streaks along the sleeves. A Blackwell letterman jacket.

_Prescott._

Resetting her head in the crook of her neck, Kate refrained from panicking, and kept her breath quiet and short. The truck rounded a curve in the road, and from the pitch black came the monstrous ruins of the barn, its large doors wide open. Its black maw awaited their entry, and Kate slightly shivered despite herself.

She had to escape, she had to run.

_How? And to where?_

She couldn't remember which way down the road would lead her back to Arkadia, never mind that she would likely be chased by Nathan until she reaches the town. The forests were her best chance to escape; there, in their pitch black, would she stand a chance of getting away.

Once she makes her way back to town, it's straight to Chloe's house, and to Max, and Chloe, and to _safety_.

All she has to do, is get away from Nathan.

He pulled into the open space of the interior, slowing the truck to a stop. The purr of said engine was cut with a turn of the key, leaving them in pitch black. Kate closed her eyes.

She heard Nathan shift in his seat, and imagined him looking over to her, parcellating if she was awake or not. She must've fooled him, for she heard the driver's door open, and he stepped out and slammed the door shut.

She waited. It had to be the right moment, the right time.

_What even was the right moment? What if that moment has already passed?_

The passenger door opened, yet he didn't reach for her, instead shifting on his feet away and into the depths of the barn. A source of light then glowed from beyond her eyelids, yet Kate kept her eyes closed.

_Wait for it._

There came the sudden grunt of exertion, followed by the squeaking of a metal hinge.

Kate opened her eyes to see Nathan, hunched over and looking tense, pulling at the trapdoor that led down to the place of woes.

_Now—!_

She willed her arms to slowly ease her out of the seat, and land quietly on the ground. Quickly did she skitter around the truck as Nathan's ruckus with the hatch drowned out her tip-toeing. Blending in with the shadows, Marsh quickly searched for the hole in the wall.

" _What the fuck—?_ "

She whipped her head around, and held a hand to her mouth. She pressed up against the wall of one of the wooden storage spaces, silent.

Footsteps rounded the truck, and she could see Nathan's silhouette twist this way and that, looking for her. In the glow of that single bulb, she could see the sharp angle of his brow, see his head swiveling, his predatory eyes searching. He had the light to his advantage, and with one slip, one mistake, she'd be done for.

He stood still now, so silently still. Waiting for a noise, for any single sound. So she didn't move either, waiting with trembling anticipation.

A slight rustling came from outside, and Nathan dashed for the barn entrance, Kate waited a good second before she moved as well. The hole on the side had been left open, having gone unnoticed by the Prescott heir, and Kate scurried on her knees and elbows through the opening.

The stacks of hay were large and ominous with their shadows as she stood, and ducked next to one, looking around anxiously. There laid a path now, directly before her between two haystacks, where it would open up to the property's wooden fence at the perimeter, and then the darkness of the forest beyond. As much as she feared the dark and the unknown, she feared being in the devil's clutches even more.

_Darkness is the mere absence of light._

Yet, she hesitated.

There was no noise now, all was quiet. No crickets sang, no owls bellowed from the trees, not even the gust of wind whispered in her ears.

_He's waiting, don't do it._

Footsteps, slow and barely noticeable, trekked from somewhere off to the left, from where the entrance was. With each step, they grew louder, closer. Kate's hands clenched to tight fists, and she tensed, eyes locked to the corner of the haystack.

_And the terror cometh for thee._

Indeed, this terror and the excitement now coursed through her veins, and her eyes dilated to their maximum, her brows fixed straight and low. Her mind spun with such intensity, yet at her willing it to stop, its machinations were silenced, and focused solely on the inevitable encounter. It will be swift, and merciless. All that rested in her favor was the element of surprise, and beyond that lied an uncertainty too dangerous to trust.

The footsteps grew closer.

For too long, she was the target of his ire, for too long she'd listened to his vitriol and said nothing in her defense. How much tolerance had she given to him, in the hopes that he'd change, that he would still hold some semblance of compassion in his heart? How much had she given, to appease the tyrant of Blackwell, this murderer and his hounds?

The steps stopped, just short of the corner.

She imagined him standing there, waiting.

Waiting.

Her knuckles were clenched white, trembling.

_Be not afraid._

The steps backed away then, first one step, then another, until they shuffled away, back to where they came. Her heart was beating so loudly in her head, that she could barely hear him after the first handful of steps. So she waited, counting to ten in her head, to when her heart became calm, and her breath slow and steady.

_Go._

She stepped quickly, passing the corner and onwards, to the fence—

A sudden force slammed into her side, tackling her to the ground.

Immediately did Kate cry out, and flail against the weight pressing her down. An arm snaked its way around her neck and squeezed, and she gasped. With his free arm, Nathan clambered to his feet, all while holding the smaller blonde in his merciless chokehold.

" _Don't make this hard now, Marsh,_ " he rasped in her ear.

Kate cried out again, one arm desperately clutching his own hooked around her throat, and the other still flailing, looking for any chance to smack him away. He roughly pulled her away to the barn entrance, away from salvation. Her efforts to escape grew rabid, and Prescott growled at her with joyful glee, "You almost had me there, you know. A damn shame."

The orange glow was bright, and with it came the creeping panic, so she gasped for breath, and begged for one last chance. With a sudden swing of her free arm, Kate smacked her cold, hardened knuckles at Nathan's face, and one of these struck him in the eye. He cried out, his grip slacking and she flung out of his hold, coughing and running with all her might for the road.

Immediately did the stomping follow her, chasing behind with thunderous percussion. Kate didn't look back, too afraid to trip and fall, too afraid to hand herself over to the clutches of Death so easily—

A force slammed into her back, tackling her and sending the both of them to the ground. Kate rolled, Nathan's grip on her was loose and she swiftly flung out of it, standing up again.

She backed away, yet didn't run. She knew somehow, deep down, that she couldn't outrun him, that he would simply catch up to her again. Her chance was lost the moment she'd been caught. Then Nathan rose from the dirt, his back facing the light that emanated from the barn and which casted an outline around him. And Kate couldn't see his eyes, shrouded in those shadows, but she imagined them locked to her own, wild and vicious.

So with a gulp, she bent her knees ever the slightest, and raised her sleeve-laden fists.

_Face your fears._

The outline of smiling dimples spread across his cheeks, and he chuckled, amused.

_Stand and fight._

"Have it your way then, Jesus-freak," he cackled, and approached ever closer, ready to spring like a coil. Yet Kate held her ground, and angled her head down, silently snarling at his proximity.

Overhead, the ravens watched from their places along the wires and the trees.

Nathan sprung, roaring with sudden intensity and pouncing onto Kate, who received his claws with a swift punch to his jaw. His momentum drove him through, knocking them off balance and sending them to the dirt once again, and he bit back the aching in his mouth and wrestled at the flailing arms beneath him. She bucked at him, using his lack of balance against him and giving enough space to drive a knee into his soft underbelly. A wild right haymaker was blocked by his left arm as he gasped, grabbing her by the throat and squeezing the life out of her in return.

She choked, diverting her efforts to ridding the pressure on her windpipe, trying to use her legs as a buffer to kick him off. He pressed down harder, once more crushing her airflow with the force. For while he might not weigh much for his size, it was definitely more than what Kate had to counter, and she panicked. A desperate hand pushed at his face, but he wouldn't budge. She tried getting her legs underneath him, but he'd straddled her waist, pinning her to the ground. Her heartbeat boomed it's chorus, a death drum beating the tune of the unlucky.

_Fight!_

Face red and with tears in her eyes, Kate swung her free arm under Nathan's chin in a weak uppercut, connecting and forcing his hold off her neck. She gasped horribly, rolling on her side and coughing back sweet air into starved lungs. Her head tingled and lolled, the lack of blood making her dizzy as she made to stand.

A hand took her by the arm, spinning her around and face first into a driving fist.

Her left cheek, initially suffering a small sting from the previous impact, flared into a burning, god awful pain. She groaned, now lying on her stomach and crawling away, terrified. The heir kicked her onto her back and swung down at her again, hitting the upper arm she rose to block the strike.

But it didn't matter much, as he threw another punch, and another, and another, and another, until it hurt to keep her arms raised. When she tried to curl up to protect herself, he seemed compelled to hit her harder, striking at her prone form like a madman. Groans turned to whimpers which turned to wails, yet he didn't hear her, her every pleading word was met with a swift strike.

" _Stop,_ _please—!_ "

He finally stopped after silencing her with a violent kick to the gut, making her gasp.

Kate wheezed, and rolled onto her back again. In the sparse light he could see those gleaming trails fall from hazel eyes and drip down to the lobes of her ears, and her dirty, golden hair was disheveled and loose from its place, locks of it circled her sweating, badly bruised face.

Nathan smiled. A wide, toothy smile.

"W-why?" she whimpered, teary-eyed, and truly afraid.

His teeth were bright in the dark, grinning.

"Because."

And he roughly grabbed the collar of her hoodie, pulling the living dead weight into a sitting position. Fueled from adrenaline, he hoisted her to his shoulders, and she cried out in pain as his pointy shoulder bones poked her bruised torso. Huffing, he stubbornly carried her back to the barn, and dropped her on the cold ground next to the trapdoor.

Her everything was pain. It was all that he had reduced her to, to spasms of stimuli and tears. Her ribcage felt ready to splinter into fragments, into thousands of sharpened shards that would tear through her flesh. She rolled onto her back and shivered.

Nathan loomed over her.

"You should've ran when you had the chance," he spoke coldly, distantly. He slowly squatted down to look her with his eyes, his cold, dead blue eyes, "what a shame, what a shame."

In his hand was a syringe.

"You're afraid, because you're just a poor little bunny. For that's all you've been, and that's all you ever will be."

Kate stiffened at the sight of it, eyes wide with terror. She tried to crawl away from the glistening needle, but a knee pressing on her aching stomach held her still. She bit back a cry as Nathan angled himself over her, reaching out and gripping her jaw tight.

"You're afraid, because you're not a wolf."

Weak hands tried to push his arm away, so he gripped her jaw harder, and pulled her close. He could see the dilation of her pupils, and the shine of wet, tangy blood trickling from a bloody nose.

"For this is the land of wolves now."

He pushed her head back, exposing her neck and with precision, he pierced pale skin, depressing the plunger.

* * *

A/N - There will be a slight delay on the following chapters (16, 17, and 18) as they are the designated end-trilogy to Part One. The first of these, Chapter 16, will go up on the 3rd of November, and there will be a two-day intermission between posting these chapters, instead of the usual four-day intermission. Part Two shall begin at the start of winter break. 


	16. Three

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear. And the oldest and strongest fear, is fear of the unknown." - H.P. Lovecraft

* * *

She stirred, rolling her head from its slouch, and willing it off the front of her collarbone and up, on her own strength.

And the first thing she felt was being clammy, and cold. Her unprotected arms were freezing cold, so much that if she felt the skin, she would be met with that disturbing lack of warmth. Except, when trying to move said arms, some resistance impeded her at the wrists. Blinking the exhaustion from weary eyes, Max looked down at her hands, finding them tied to the arms of the chair she sat in.

_Oh._

Testing her legs and receiving the same results, she vented her rising nervousness by rolling her ankles as much as she could, tightening her hands to fists and pulling at the straps that bound her wrists. Not even a budge.

_Oh no—_

Dreadful confusion set in as she recognized her surroundings: she was in the bunker, the _darkroom_ , and the chair she was in was facing the couch and its table, and what would be the shelves and the computer in the back left corner and what would be the exit on the back right.

There was someone on the couch, with a ragged white tank top, and short blue hair—

" _Chloe!_ " Max loudly whispered, yet Chloe didn't stir. The bluenette was unconscious, with her hands tied behind her back, and slumped across the length of the leather furniture.

The only illumination came from one of the studio lights facing Max, shining from her left; otherwise, there was the encapsulating darkness that settled beyond where Chloe lay.

It made Max's stomach swirl, here in this chilling cold. She felt the sudden urge to call for help, somewhere beyond what she could barely see.

_Would anyone even hear, or worse, would the wrong person hear?_

"Chloe, wake up! _Chloe!_ "

_Clunk_

A sound! Beyond the tarp, someone just opened the heavy steel entrance!

So Max seized up. Perhaps she'd have the chance to trick them into thinking she'd still be asleep, but it wasn't upon her mind. She was curious, dreadful yet curious. She remembers shining spectacles reflecting the sunlight, and nothing else. Oh, how she wished she'd gotten a look at their face, maybe then—

Controlled, concise steps echoed in the silent space, and Max could just make out a shift of the tarp in the shadows. A shadowy figure slipped into the room, moving smoothly to the computer in the corner. They fiddled for a moment, the overhead lights brightened the slightest, but still she couldn't recognize the figure. They fiddled some more, the lights now a solid crimson hue that bathed the room, brighter with the light still shining upon Max. She still could not discern them from that red dim. The damn light placed next to her was far too bright.

The footsteps picked up again, towards her, slow and steady. They hesitated the slightest—they must've noticed her awake—but continued that steady pace, stopping just before the studio light shining in her eyes.

"A little too bright, hm?" came a voice, silky smooth and baritone. Max's eyes widened.

Some toggling of the studio light brought its brightness down considerably, and through the red shadows Max could make him out. Whether it mattered to him what he was before this very moment, he had not the slightest care. In fact, he was smiling, wolfish and so full of himself.

"Mister J-Jefferson?!"

"It's nice to see you too, Max," he complimented, now taking the time to ready one of the many tripods surrounding the space, "though, I really wish it were of your own volition— _sigh_ —oh well, who am I to complain about such things."

He was so relaxed as he mounted his camera of choice on the tripod, and so oblivious to Max's utter disbelief. By God, her own teacher, her own goddamn _idol_ , he was the one doing all this—

"It was you, all along? You were the one behind all this?" she rasped.

"Oh, pardon me, I forgot to give you a proper introduction," and he inched over, crouching to her level and sporting the widest grin he could manage, "Welcome to the Dark Room, Max. This," he gestured to the surrounding space, "is my home away from home, where all the wonders of my talent manifest into creation."

Max wasn't even slightly impressed, rather, she was still reeling.

"I have to say, I was disappointed to find out you and your— _friends_ —snuck in and discovered this place without me giving you a rightful welcoming tour, but rest assured, I'd appreciate it if you'd stay for a little longer. After all, you wouldn't want to miss all the wonderous things I've planned for this occasion."

"You say that like I have a choice," she glared.

"But you do, Max. Maybe not for yourself, but for the others," and he stood, walking over to the couch. Jefferson picked Chloe up, bridal style, and made his way back over to the chair. And with a courteous smile, he then dumped Price to the floor, evoking a sudden _thud_ as flesh contacted laminate flooring.

" _Chloe—!_ " she gasped.

"I wouldn't worry about your friend here, she's still out cold. The least she'll feel is a slight headache when she wakes up."

"You were the one who did this to her, _to us_ , you bastard!" as disbelief turned to anger, "you were the one who kidnapped Rachel, weren't you?"

"Well, isn't that a mighty can of worms. Contrary to what you're telling yourself, no, I did not. That was all Nathan's doing," and he spoke of it like it was a nuisance, something to brush aside.

"Both of you did it, both of you took her here, both of you abused her—!" and a calloused, gloved hand then wrapped around her jaw, and crushed whatever Max had left to shout.

"I prefer the term _manipulated_ , Max," he remarked coldly, "like with a photo, one of _my_ design, of _my_ intention. Rachel was just the perfect subject to turn into what I want," and he smiled then, hawkish eyes enjoying every detail of terror morphing Max's pale face, "I hope you aren't too different."

He released her, gently, and she shook in her restraints, teeming with a tirade of unspoken emotion. A fury to rival the sun shone through the fright, "As if I'd let you hurt me, or hurt any of them. You're not getting away with this."

"Oh, how so?"

Max stubbornly bit, "In case you haven't noticed, you fucked up. You don't have all of us. And the police will be down here in no time—"

Jefferson chuckled, lightly at first, but it grew with every sputtered word from Max, until his laughs reigned over her spiel, loud and boisterous. For her part, Max felt a sort of dread creep in, as he shouldn't be laughing.

_Why the hell is he laughing!?_

"Oh, Max, come on. Do you really think a professional artist like me would leave a project as grand as this with any loose ends? Though, that reminds me," he then pulled his cell phone from his pant pocket, initiating a call after a bit of fiddling, "Yeah, it's me. Are you done?"

A pause, and the dread within Max was becoming worse, "Well hurry up then, she's awake now."

Jefferson ended the call, that smile now present, "I want you to understand something, Max," and he looked at her—no—looked _into_ her, "You never stood a chance. I have twenty-four-seven surveillance in this place, and even then, it was only a matter of time before you'd fall right into my hands. Perhaps if you'd focused on your classwork instead of going around being private detectives with your little faux-punk slut here, then maybe it wouldn't have come to this."

The heavy vault door could be heard behind Jefferson, such was that resounding _clunk_ as the locks clicked to place. Some shuffling followed, and Max looked on as the tarp was parted, and Nathan came trudging into the room, carrying something, _someone_ —

_Oh no, Oh God, please no._

Prescott roughly brought that person into the dimness of the red light, taking the time to set them on their knees in front of Max and Jefferson. And he crouched, taking a free hand and raising the slumped head of the figure for them to see, a pale face framed with frayed blonde hair, and a bleeding nose.

" _Kate_ —" Max gasped, eyes wide. Instinctually she reached for her friend, and was reminded of the painful leather straps holding her down.

Mark seemed a bit affronted by the state of the blonde as well, "I was under the impression you'd be _clean_ about it," he chided.

"Look, the bitch didn't make it far—she knew she couldn't run, Mark. I said you'd get her in one piece, and here she is," Nathan bit back, letting Kate's unconscious form drop to the floor face first.

Max flinched, and begged for all it was worth, " _Kate, no—_ "

"I would appreciate it if you'd tell me about these kinds of things. I'd help you if you would only ask," Mark's frown was cold, but Nathan couldn't care much for the man's tone.

"I don't need your help, I can do this shit on my own," Prescott defended, "you got what you wanted, now keep your end of the deal and you won't have to worry 'bout me again."

At this, Jefferson sighed, "Of course. Thank you, Nathan. You've been a great help, bringing me what I need. I hope everything goes well for you—"

"Yeah, yeah," and Nathan was already walking for the tarp, calling from the back, "have fun in paradise, or whatever."

Then the vault door was closed again, and it was just them now, all of them. At the artist's mercy.

So Jefferson turned, and that horrid smile struck his lips again, infectious, "I suppose it'd be rude to delay this any longer—"

"Why?"

Jefferson paused, "Pardon?"

"Why do this?" Max growled, glaring, "why us? Why me?"

He bid his time in answering, walking back over to the mounted camera on the tripod, "Well, I'm glad you asked, Max," he adjusted the settings a bit, and then calmly walked over to where Kate laid on the floor, "my hobby, my _passion_ , is to witness one of the most beautiful things that humanity could ever behold: the metamorphosis of the individual, the metamorphosis of the mind."

He scooped up the blonde in his arms, "there lies, in the very beginning of our lives, that innate premise that we all had when we were growing up. How one would dream of luxuries beyond the scope of creation, that feeling of perseverance—" seeing Max's scrunched brow, he summed up, "in short, the purity of the youth, the hope that lies in their hearts. Their innocence."

Fearing she would break into pieces, Jefferson handled Kate with enough care to suffice, placing her on the ground before Max's feet and next to Chloe.

"I have the distinct pleasure to witness the transformation of the naïve, hopeful star, into the everyday melancholic drone. Once a beautiful light, now forever tainted by life and its cruelty."

" _You_ are the one who ruins them, not life," Max bit, "You're the one who drags them down here just to have your way with them, it was never their choice—!"

"How far you could be from the truth, Max," he interrupted, "Need I remind you that an artist's purpose is to break the boundaries of the unknown, to express the quantifiable connections between what we know is real and what we think is real. We see this with the realists, the surrealists, the abstract artists and many others in their own specified genres. Yet, society as a whole has lost its way. It ascribes artificial walls to talentless amateurs too holed up in their virtue to go beyond the boundaries of what we know and interpret, but not me," he inches closer, at eye level to Max, "I made a promise to myself many years ago, that as a _true_ artist, I would break the boundaries that have yet to be broken, I would extend my hand to those from thousands of years ago who did not fear the moral code imposed upon them, but rather, feared the thought of not being true to their interpretations," and she witnessed the far-out look in his eyes, as he lamented on with passionate fervor; "The world has changed much from what it once was, but there still lives something, something within us all. An echo of the life unburdened by intangible means. A light, a humanity, wild and free from the shackles of the modern world that I must uncover, that I _must_ capture."

"And it starts, here," Jefferson brought himself back to the present, "it starts with every soul that still shines in this hellish world. It starts with the likes of you, Max," and he smiled from ear to ear, so wolfish and happy and crooked.

Max looked back at him, wide-eyed and trembling.

"So beautiful," he sadly cooed, then with exertion he stood up once again, "Time waits for no one, not even the most esteemed."

As he walked over to the camera, Max clenched her hands to fists, shaking so terribly.


	17. Borne of Blood

"One ought to hold on to one's heart; for if one lets it go, one soon loses control of the head too." - Friedrich Nietzsche

* * *

From the black realm of the dreamless oblivion, was she roused from by a sudden cry. Immediately were her ice blue eyes awakened, and for a second she'd thought it true: that she had truly fallen into the crimson depths of Hell, scorned by the Almighty for her misdeeds. Yet, as pupils dilated to the dimness, she realized that maybe Hell would be preferable to where she was now.

Chloe blinked the grime that clung to her eyelids, and rolled onto her side. Trying to sit up, she became aware of her arms, cold and sore, and tightly bound to her back. The zip-tie was digging into her wrists as she attempted to pull herself up. The dull throb of a headache grew prominent and stunted her efforts to stand.

Another cry sounded, close, so she tilted her head off the cold laminate floor, and beheld the sight.

There was Max, strapped to a chair, begging, pleading with hoarse cries, tears shining bright in that dreadful red light beside them, marring equally red-hued skin. The brunette's speech was high in pitch, so garbled and slurred from a choked throat, and what modicum of fear that hung in the air was inhaled by Price in full-bearing realization.

"Please, don't, I can—no, NO!" Max pleaded, straining her arms against the straps, " _Jefferson please don't—!_ "

"There is a moment, Max, where we must all show our _truth_. That which is true only to us, and no one else, for it is indeed a part of what makes us all shine so brightly," and Chloe shuddered at the smoothness of that baritone voice. The punk jerked her head left, seeing a figure dressed in a black suit, with a goatee and glasses, holding up something green, someone with blonde hair—

"Just like dear, sweet Kate had shown hers," and a glimmer shone from the blade of a knife, held in the man's right hand—Jefferson's hand—being slowly raised into view. Chloe needed not to look, already Max revived her efforts to wrench herself from her seat, "a pure-hearted beauty, destined to shine like the brightest star, only to fall to the lowest of the low, to the dull nothing we all become."

" _Please—!_ " Max's tear-stricken eyes were wrenched shut, and her bob-cut swayed ever the slightest as she shook her head, begging, " _Please don't!_ "

Jefferson's grin grew, already wolfish but now at its full width, and that row of shining white teeth glowed pristinely at the squirming brunette, "Oh, she was delicious, I admit it, but there are many naïve children just like faithful little Kate in this world," and his left hand curled under the drugged blonde's chin, turning it to observe those mesmerizing, bruising, bloodied features, "nothing but a dime a dozen. There's only so much to savor before it loses its specialty, its _purity_ ," and the knife gleamed from the red rays and hovered so close to Marsh's unconscious, bruised face.

Whimpers caught Chloe's attention again, and she looked to her best friend, head hung down so the shadows obscured her face and those burning rivulets on freckled cheeks. Max was looking away, too afraid to see him do it. A sweltering feeling tore the bluenette's heartstrings, as her own eyes watered at the pitiful sight. Chloe didn't envy the brunette one bit.

"Max, look at me."

Jefferson's voice was smooth and comforting, and Max sobbed instinctually.

"Look at me, Max," and Chloe saw him lay Kate down on the tarp, uncarved, before Max's feet, as if assuring her. He awaited her to look him in his eyes, his black, beady eyes hidden behind those sharp spectacles of his.

Max slowly raised her head.

"Do you know what your truth is, Max?" he asked.

"What?"

"Your _truth_ ," he emphasized, eyes cold, "the epitome of your being, Max. That what shows you who _you_ are—"

"I don't know what you're talking about, and even if I did, why should I tell you?" she tartly rasped, her hands clenched to fists, "What does it matter for? For my sake?"

"Well, it wouldn't be for _your_ sake," he calmly smiled, and with that he reached for Kate's head, taking a great handful of blonde hair, and then yanking back, "it'd be for hers."

" _Wait_ —!"

"Tell me; you love your friends, do you not, Max?"

"Yes!" she cried, eyes wide, "I do, yes, just—"

"Are you showing me that out of appeasement, or of truth?" he narrowed his eyes.

She didn't have the time to answer. The knife cut through the taut blonde locks like a burning blade through butter.

" _STOP_ —!" Max wailed, thrashing against the restraints, "Don't hurt her! I love my friends, Jefferson, I truly do, _I swear I do, please don't_ —!"

He took another handful of those blonde locks, and Chloe could see his beady eyes dilate in excitement, his smile was twitching with excitement, "show me then, Max. Would you would let them see their families again, even if it meant you couldn't see your own?"

Stunned, Caulfield blubbered, "y-yes—?"

The knife tore through hair again, and again Max begged, hoarse, panicked, "YES, yes! I would, I would do it, _please stop_ —!"

Chloe watched, helpless, as the man's demeanor abruptly shifted, his smile now forgotten, "Why must you show me these _lies_ , Max? Have I not impressed upon you the importance of what I'm asking of you!?" and he tore at the blonde's locks for a third time, like an accusation, like he'd been personally insulted. So then Jefferson's eyes refocused on the still unconscious form before him, and roughly took hold of the nape, holding the girl up and bringing her close to Max's seat.

Kate's beautiful flowing locks, having once reached down to her waist, were now no longer than the lobes of her ears, cut so sharply and drastically that it seemed unnatural to the conception of the soft and forgiving girl from before. It was as if this girl had been stripped from them, torn from their reach by a monster. What laid there now, in Jefferson's grip, was a husk, bruised and battered and beaten from within.

So Max wept, wanting to eviscerate the black-hearted being that held her friend. The brunette's wrists stung like fire, skin colored evermore red from the friction against ragged leather. From where she lay, Chloe looked on, unable to stand, unable to move, unable to help.

"Do you see this, Max?" Jefferson asked, eyes locked onto the tethered brunette, "do you see what I see? Do you not see the beauty of it all?"

Max glared at him, eyes bloodshot and brimming salty sorrow. She said nothing.

He sighed, disappointed, "I had hoped you'd show the truth yourself, but you've let me down, again."

"Fuck you, you murderer," Max growled, hysterical.

His eye twitched incessantly, "Oh, and what brought you to such a mighty assumption—"

"You killed her! You killed Rachel, I know you did. It could not be any other!" shrieked the brunette, and Chloe's eyes widened at her words, "Nathan would not have the balls to do it, but you—you would. _You heartless monster_ ," Caulfield spat, eyes wide, frothing with a feverish fury and thrashing again, unburdened by the sting of the leather.

He drinks all of her rage in, lapping it up with every joyous blink of his beautiful, bolded beady eyes. An unconscious smile slithers across his tethered features like a satisfied snake, yet his fortitude persists, and he turns stone cold in an instant.

"It's nice to see some thought behind your biting words, Max, but please don't toss the fault upon me like that. You and I are both aware of Nathan's erratic behavior, especially when angered," the man grew forlorn then, remembering, "it was a shame the fool thought he really could try his hand at pure art, something a barbarian of his type would not know. He is not a boy of intimacy, after all; he is a man of war."

His lost gaze refocuses, shining with a slick oily sheen from the overhead lights, "An overdose, a slip of the thumb. Something a ruffian would stumble with ease, but not the professional, no—for me, there are no mistakes," and whilst seizing the husk lying on the canvas, did he pull the knife out again, and Max evoked a guttural, heart-tearing gasp, for her woes would begin again at his behest, he would not stop at the blonde locks and she was sure of it.

So was Chloe, who still laid aside them, unnoticed until now.

"Don't you fucking touch her, you freak!" Price roared, and even though restrained, still beckoned his surprise at her volume. She pushed herself up with all her strength, and rammed her shoulder into his side, knocking the knife out of his hands and sending him off balance. Yet Jefferson still recovered, and for the briefest of moments when it seemed the punk would level herself to stand, did he swiftly swing a foot under one of hers, tripping her—

And her foot gave way, slipping. Falling.

"Oh shi—!" _thnmp_

Chloe landed on her left side exceptionally hard, and moaned in pain as the aching of her bones surged in intensity, she rolled on her stomach with a swear. Jefferson eyed the scene before him with guarded anticipation, and with a glance to the now trembling Caulfield and back again, he determined his next play. Like a child outgrown of their toy, he disregarded the lifeless husk still in his clutch, and set his beady orbs upon his next plaything.

Price shivered as cold, callous digits wrapped themselves around the nape of her neck and her non-aching right arm, growling like a bulldog as she was man-handled onto her knees, and facing her distraught best friend in the chair. She had the sudden urge to try and bite those freezing digits off, but Max's wide eyed look begged her not to. Instead, Price furrowed her brow and dared to look the devil in the face. She chose to spite him.

"I'll fucking kill you for what you did to Rachel, you fucking—!" and a stern pinch to her neck silenced the bluenette, and she squirmed in his iron grip and whimpered, pained.

"I've dealt with enough faux-punk sluts like you in Seattle to earn me a harem. You will be no exception," he coldly panned, and turned his head to the still shivering girl in the chair, "now, Max, back to showing us the _truth_."

"Your truth means nothing to me," Max croaked with heavy eyelids, "and even if I had it, I wouldn't give it to you. You want it so badly, then just take it," she rasped, "Just leave them out of this."

He sighs, disappointed, "I can't, Max. They mean too much to you for me to toss aside. Is that not a part of your truth, that you love your friends?"

Max hesitated.

"My point, exactly," he concurred, and with precision, he swung a mighty fist into the punk's soft stomach.

" _Chloe—!_ " Max cried as Chloe writhed onto her back from doubling over, mouth wide like a fish gasping and gulping for air, her face red with pain. Tears sprung from crisp ice blue eyes as Price floundered on the floor, with the perpetrator looking down with a slated stare, almost disgusted. Reverting to his sputtering muse, he spoke softly, deathly.

"Now, let us make art."


	18. Hate

"Take whatever feelings you have left, and turn them into hatred." - Unknown

* * *

The headache was all she knew; it was all she had been reduced to. The searing flow of blood that began in her weary heart and which circulated her aching body, meant to be a revitalizing factor, but instead a pumping ichor of molten pain, throbbing to the rhythm of the life drum. The entirety of her left face was stubbornly pained, the kind that burned and flared when touched or exerted. It set her trembling brows into a deep-seated frown, burrowing ever further as the sounds filtering through the black void of consciousness came bellowing, loud and terrifying. Her bloodshot hazel eyes slowly pulled themselves open, and she beheld the stuff of her nightmares.

"Please don't, _please don't_ —!" and Kate looked on to the brunette strapped in a chair, horrified and tiredly trying to free themselves from their seat.

"I'll fucking kill you, you sonuvabitch! I'll fucking—!" and those shrieks were suddenly choked to silence, and replaced with another voice, a low, velvety baritone, "So loud and aggravating, aren't you?"

That feminine chorus of two, one begging, the other frothing at the mouth and venomous, like a cornered animal held onto the metal leash, were the most prominent of voices that rung in her eardrums. And there they were, her friends Max and Chloe, the former writhing in the chair and the latter rooted on her knees, crying out at the looming, shadowy figure standing over her.

"You've not the slightest clue what you're witnessing, do you?" the man coldly asked the bluenette in his grasp, and beckoned her to observe the weeping Max, "Do you not see the beauty of transformation?"

As Kate felt herself rise out of her feverish stupor, she rolled on her back, transfixed on the sight before her. It dawned on her then, as the red hue of light no longer disguised the man's features, nor the dark suit and the sleek dress pants, and the subtle glint of his glasses as they swayed with his head. For now Kate was struck with disbelief. Slowly, yet with increasing speed, she shuffled away from them, from _him_ , the monster himself. Fear drove her to run, to hide, to seek shelter, just to get away—

"Behold, the metamorphosis of the mind, to the cruel reality of life that awaits us all."

Her trembling, hoodie-clad form bumped into the table just in front of the couch, and she held still, afraid the sound would carry to his ears. Yet he was too focused on his foul antics, too busy tormenting Kate's friends to notice her.

So she turned, and her eyes settled on the glint of a knife, along with its polymer handle, sleek and black as Death's cloak, barely distinguished from the dimness of the surroundings. It lay beside her on the tiled floor, having been discarded. She watched as her own shaking right hand proceeded to wrap it's fingers round the blade's hilt, and with trepidation did she look back to her fears.

"It's so beautiful," Jefferson breathed out, enraptured, "oh, Max, you are so, so beautiful," he smiled warmly.

Max had grown tired, and her hands lay still on the arms of the chair, hunched over, head lolling to and fro to keep from slipping away. When the weeping girl did raise her head into the light again, one could see the rivulets of tears, glistening against the paleness of her face, sick and weathered. Chapped lips trembled ever the slightest.

Finally, she rasped, "Let her go. Let them go."

Jefferson smiled wider, "I'm sorry, Max, you know I can't do that."

Chloe had stopped fighting against his grip; whether it was because she was tired herself, or the sight of Max so disheveled stayed her, Kate was unsure.

"Yes you can," Max still pleaded, "I'll stop fighting. I'll do whatever you want, I'll do whatever you wish, just please—" tired, bloodshot blue eyes looked to Chloe, "let them go."

Kate slowly, silently stood up, just as Jefferson snickered, amused by Max's plea.

_If not me, then who, and if not now, then when?_

"And what? Let them go off and tattle to the first police officer they find?" he sighed, "You forget that I cannot have loose ends, Max," and he smiled then, curled and sinister, "And even then, I doubt they would be able to save you if they wanted to."

"What do you mean?" Max slurred, blinking nervously.

"You think Nathan would not appeal to his greater calling like I have? What else would he be doing other than preparing for his rite of passage," Mark monologued, "I told you he is a man of war, and men of war do what they must to ensure their little fanfare forever rings in this world."

Kate took a hesitant step forward, hunching her back.

_Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and the spirit of Blighty closest to your heart._

"Blackwell is but the catalyst for the beginning of a new age in this pitiful town, a beginning that is mutually beneficial to both Nathan and I," and calloused hands dug their digits into Chloe's cheeks, earning a pained growl at the coarseness of his handling, "An artificial selection of the strongest and the weakest, the pure and the tainted," his smile became a smirk, "and all the possibilities that I could ever desire."

The knife shook slightly in Kate's grip, but never faltered.

_Be the victor, not the victim._

Max looked at the raving psychopath in front of her, wide-eyed and trembling, "I—what?"

"Perhaps, if you would just _listen to me—_ " and he suddenly shove the punk in his grip to the cold, merciless floor, her head impacting with a sickly _thnnk_ and bouncing once off the tile, "I wouldn't have to resort to _this!_ Is this what I need to do, is this what will get your attention, _Maxine?_ "

Price's attempt to speak came out garbled, and was swiftly replaced with painful moans. Jefferson took a moment to enjoy the sight, before he looked again to his prize. He had only to reach out and _take it_.

Max had shot her vocal chords trying to scream for Chloe, and watched in muted horror as a hand wrapped itself into dyed blue hair, yanking horribly, and giving her a view of her best friend, now with a badly bleeding nose.

"I can see it, now," he gleefully whispered, like a child finally getting his just reward, "your final truth, Max."

The studio light off to the side, with its reddish hue, gleamed off of steady hazel eyes, and the polished silver blade.

_Triumph of the Will._

"You can feel it, don't you? The hopelessness of it all, the terror of what's soon to come," and Jefferson wouldn't take his ecstatic, beady black eyes off his prize, for he wanted to see every twitch, every spasm from the object of his obsession. Indeed, he had found what he was looking for. He now wanted her to revel in the feeling of doom, "No one is coming for you, Max. Your parents, of which I know are so, so far away—they will be eviscerated by the fires of revolution. Your friends will be tossed as fodder for the fish off the lighthouse cliff. Your classmates will forget you ever existed, once Nathan takes up his role as the black knight, and sets Arkadia ablaze," his rant had rose to a maddening bellow, so assured of itself, so content, "and I will have all the time in the world, to guide you and other pure ones like you, into the beautiful, black oblivion."

Max's eyes shifted to something over his shoulder, giving him pause.

With her left hand clamping down onto his adjacent shoulder, Kate drove the entirety of the knife's sharp blade into Jefferson's lower back, eliciting a gut-wrenching wet _schunk_ as the edge tore through flesh. Immediately did he recoil as nerves sung a chorus of unbelievable pain throughout his entire body, and a blood-curdling cry came from his mouth as he unintentionally allowed Kate to pull the knife out from its place, only to enthusiastically reinsert it into his right side.

Both screaming bloody murder, Jefferson spun around wildly, swinging a clumsy right hook towards his attacker, and striking his mark at center mass, fumbling backwards to deal with the knife in his side. Kate felt all the air in her gut be forcefully expelled by the punch, as she was knocked the few feet of distance between herself and one of the cabinets lining the wall. She crashed back-first into it, and its unsupported structure wobbled from the force, sending its contents off the shelves and onto the ground, showering the gasping blonde. In the moment it took for her vision to stop flowing with the onset of more tears, Kate beheld the sight of miracles, laid next to her right hand: a handgun, black and sleek and promising of death. So without thinking, she took hold of it and lined up its barrel at Jefferson, who had pulled the knife from his side and in that second, swung his head to face her.

He looked surprised then, so genuinely surprised. He truly believed he would not fail.

**_BANG_ **

The nine millimeter bullet of hot, burning lead snapped across the room and impacted the flesh along the curve of his neck, tearing, searing the muscles and the arteries and then burying itself into the wall behind him. The force made Jefferson violently twirl, and his final performance as an artist was the blood and gore that sprayed itself onto the surrounding surfaces, before he collapsed, a bleeding, gurgling dead weight. His crimson ichor coated his hands and shined in the light on his black suit, spreading to the floor as he slowly grew still.

* * *

A/N - Since we have reached the end of Part One, I feel the need to address this now, as it is too prevalent of an issue over what it is I intend this story to be and how it shall be perceived by you, as the reader: _There is not, has never been, and never will be, a political message to this story._

In times like ours, where everything that exists within the sphere of politics has become excessively divisive and conflicting, it becomes necessary to create a narrative that does away to the best of its ability, the toxic politics of our zeitgeist. Even then, I know that I cannot completely remove such a sensitive topic from this story, as politics has become too entwined in society to be rid of in our daily lives, and indeed is representative to the vast number of values and ideas from all the people that have ever existed, and who may yet exist.

So I say this with the utmost conviction: my true message is not the kind that is served to you on news channels or political news websites, nor will it ever be. If you want to interpret my work, or what I incorporate in my work as political, then so be it, I cannot stop you. Yet know that my message, regardless of whoever's interpretation, shall be this inevitable truth: that in the end, we all hold certain principles to us that are dear, and that if we wish to ensure the existence of these principles, then we _must_ stand, we _must_ fight, and we _must_ defend with the totality of our efforts, these principles. For without them, we are left without a meaning to exist and will suffer beyond what we know as death.

I ask of you, now, as the reader who's ventured this far in my story: if you do have any criticisms of what I write, how I write, the way I brought this alternate timeline into existence, then please leave a review for this work. I can only better myself so much without outside interpretation, and it would be appreciated if I had the perspective of someone outside looking in, instead of inside looking out. Part Two will begin sometime at the start of Winter break. Thank you all for reading, I hope it was worthwhile. - MB

**Author's Note:**

> Any form of feedback, critiques or compliments welcome.


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